La Femme Infidele
by bloodrosered
Summary: Aimee Sumner is a happy teen that seems to have a perfect life. Until she finds out her mother, Connie, is having an affair. She finds she has the gift of clairvoyance. Rated M for sexuality, scenes of violence, and drug use.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"They got this place

Where they've been keeping me…

The Quiet Room,

It's sterilized and white.

It's like a tomb

With just a moth stained naked light…

This quiet place

It ain't so new to me

It's haunted atmosphere

Has heard so many screams

My home from home, my twilight zone

My strangest dream,

My confident, I have confessed my life

The Quiet Room knows more about me

Than my wife

A mattress on the floor

No handles on the door

I really need nothing more

I'm alone. "

-Alice Cooper, 'The Quiet Room'

_From the Inside_, 1975

Day…after…day…I wait. Waiting…what do I wait for? Waiting for my life to pass…here, in this quiet, white place of insanity. I haven't moved from my spot since I've got here, lying on the floor, in my torn jeans and white tank, a cigarette between my trembling fingers, coffee in a plastic cup to my left and my hair unwashed, never speaking, only mouthing the sweet songs of Alice Cooper while my sanity barely hangs by a string.

With paste on my left and pencils behind my ear and plastic kindergarten scissors, completing my masterpiece, which I call: _Les Pêcheurs:_ The Sinners, my masterpiece exposing the sins that my parents have done: my mother is an adulteress and my father is a murderer. It's a large masterpiece, all of my sketches cut out of my sketchbook and I paste them to a larger piece of paper that keeps curling. Annoyed, I want to keep it from curling from the glue with my coffee cup, but if I dare spill any on it, I would lose my sanity.

I imagine myself going insane when I spill coffee on my beautiful masterpiece that I have slaved over for months and months. I would scream, throwing pencils, glue sticks, hurling the coffee cup at the wall…nurses and orderlies would come in, strap me down in the solitary confinement room, inject me with a sedative, send me on my way once I had calmed down, taking shuffling steps with lifeless eyes and gaunt cheeks. I haven't looked at myself in the mirror…I wouldn't dare to. If I looked, my face would look like a junkie strung out on meth.

My fingers are dirty from touching the pencil sketches, smudging them. I use the pencil and fingers to fix my sketches if I smudge them.

"Excuse me, Aimee," said a nurse. "You're not allowed to smoke in here. It bothers the other patients. If you want to smoke, you have to go outside."

I say nothing, just take one last drag and put my cigarette out on the floor.

"Hand me your cigarettes," she said. "I'm going to have to hold them."

I only shake my head 'no'.

"I know you have cigarettes, Aimee," said the nurse.

I stand up and show her that I don't have any in my pockets. My cigarettes are next to my left ankle in my sock.

"OK," she said. "Did you get your cigarettes from another patient?"

I nod. I like being mute, you have nothing to say and it's easy to get away with.

"All right," said the nurse. "I'm sorry to bother you, Aimee. You can go back to your work."

I nod again.

You may ask why I never speak. I haven't spoken for nearly two years since I saw something traumatizing. The shrink says that I have profound case of acute post-traumatic stress syndrome, catatonic to be specific, which is why I will never speak. Only my drawings can speak for me. What happened that was actually so traumatic for me to go into such a state, you may ask? Here's why…

_La femme infidèle _means 'unfaithful wife' in French (and yes, I did take French once.) Mum was once a _femme infidèle_ and oh yes, I've seen her do it. But that was a year ago…but just because it was that long ago doesn't mean it will erase from your memory even if you suffered from blunt force trauma and woke up with amnesia.

Connie Sumner, my mother, was the most beautiful woman in the world; she had pale Madonna skin, blonde hair, and nothing but softness. I loved her more than life itself. From the day I was born, she was the first thing I saw, heard, smelled and felt. I remember she was naked when she birthed me: her sweaty hair and skin, the tears in her eyes when she saw me enter the world, when she planted me at her breast, her rough nipple in my toothless mouth and her warm milk on my tongue, the sounds of her soothing voice and the feel of her arms as they held me close to her body and her hand caressing my cheek.

I remember how she would hold me: her soothing voice, her warm eyes, and the soft skin on her face. My hand exploring her pretty face, her mouth nipping my fingers when they touched her mouth, and her hair, that shoulder length blonde hair that felt like corn silk. Her laugh that was sweet and juicy and I would laugh with her.

"Mummy loves you, Aimee," she would say, pressing me into her breasts.

"Mummy!" I would say back, being two years old.

Edward Sumner is my Daddy. I loved him and he loved me. I remembered Daddy's face when I was born: his hair, his voice, whispering words of love.

"Daddy's here, Aimee," he'd whisper.

I remembered when I was a little girl, he'd pick me up and I would touch his face with my hand, his gray eyes looking at me with brown hair, near graying, his hands around my waist and his arm supporting my bottom, feeling the strong muscle beneath it. His face was smooth and warm and his smile was impish as if he had something in mind. He would plant me with a thousand kisses on the face and I would laugh hysterically. Then, he'd say,

"I love you, my little girl."

And I'd say, "I love you, Daddy."

Sometimes he would bounce me on his strong knee. After bouncing me, I'd hug my Daddy, feeling how firm and warm his chest was while he stroked my hair with his big hand and felt his velvety warm breath on my forehead.

He bought me a silver charm that said 'Daddy's Girl' for my fourth birthday, but Mum insisted that I have it when I'm older and more responsible. Mum got me a charm to add to that said 'Mommy's Girl'. Both of those charms are now on my charm bracelet.

Mum and Daddy seemed to have a happy marriage as I observed it. They gave me a little brother, Charlie. I like him, he's cute, but a pain in the ass.

Mum and Daddy got me a car for my 16th birthday with my initials on the license plate. It's a used, 1990 Honda Civic with automatic transmission and a radio/tape player, A/C and radiator, with airbags on driver and passenger sides.

I also love to draw; my teacher said that my artwork was so good that she would recommend me to some art schools for me to go to. People think that my drawings are so real that they could actually touch them. Like one time, I did a nude portrait of Alice Cooper (I had found on the Internet), my favorite rock-n-roll singer, with a snake wrapped around his thigh and covering his penis and balls, lying on the floor with one knee bent. When I finished it, it was indeed a success and put in the hall of fame. Girls went crazy over the drawing, especially how real the thigh muscles were in his bent leg, his long, unruly hair, the way his eyes looked at you, and the snake between his thighs gave you a creepy feeling of how it must've felt on his skin. I would laugh, thinking the guy who took this photo must've had to be quick because the snake probably slithered away all the time, leaving poor Alice naked and how cold and ticklish the snake must've felt on his privates that he'd try not to laugh when it moved.

I had a boyfriend once. Shawn Harrison: sixteen, six-foot-two, eyes of sky blue, blonde, and a very good sense of humor and a well brought up gentleman. He said he liked the way I said 'Mum' instead of 'Mom'. I also liked the way he talked to me in his Bronx accent. He was the man I loved and trusted.

But now, I'm no longer with Shawn or my family. I'm here in this place where it's white and quiet. Shawn never visits me anymore…he found someone prettier than me. How did I know? I saw him…how?

I have visions. But these visions have nothing to do with seeing the future. They're more of an awareness of what's going on. As I read in a book of psychics at school, the real psychic word is called clairvoyance; literal French translation is 'clear sight'. In the English definition, it means 'the ability to perceive objects or events that cannot be seen'. Most of my visions that I have are with Mum in them. I found out she had an affair and that Daddy killed her lover. All of this is why my sanity is hanging by a thread. Three years ago, the downfall of my family happened…

I'm still here, lying here on the floor with my drawings, gluing each one to my masterpiece that I've been working on since I've gotten here. I've been here for nearly a month and a year and a half. And I haven't left my work for hours. I have the urge to smoke another cigarette and a cup of coffee, black. My fingers tremble from the caffeine and nicotine…I got hooked on those while Mum's affair was happening…I even tried drugs.

I went from a happy child to a child of darkness.

I light another cigarette. Marlboro red. I inhaled the sweet toxic nicotine into my lungs, filling them with carbon monoxide and nicotine and then exhaled a stream of smoke. I'd rather be smoking weed underneath the bleachers at the mental institution, trading blowjobs and drawings for weed and cigarettes. When I was high, at least I was happy. I make deals with the other patients: I'll trade them drawings or blowjobs for weed and cigarettes. But, unfortunately, the sexual favors had ended because they had found out that I had weed. I was arrested, charged with drug possession…they were going to send me to jail, but after reading my medical record, they found me guilty due to reasons of insanity and sent me back to the institution.

I talk to everyone with a pad of paper and a pen. If anyone bothers me when I'm drawing, I would scream unintelligible obscenities.

I used to write to Daddy. I keep his mail under my mattress. I write Daddy, addressed as: Edward Sumner, Prisoner 679050, Manhattan Correctional Facility, Men's Ward, Cell 34D.

I get lots of letters from him, telling me what prison life is like:

"…no one in prison has rights. We can't ask for a lawyer, we're beaten to death by the prison guards if we fight. I live in a cubicle cell with a toilet with zero privacy and share a bunk with a sex offender and I'm afraid to close my eyes and sleep because he might rape me or even molest me in my sleep. The lights are never turned off at night and they took away my wedding band. Your mother visits me behind a glass wall with a telephone, having no physical contact. I wish he could hold her and feel her soft, warm body against mine and kiss her all over like we once did…"

When I read his letters, his voice sounds sad and far away. He addresses my letters: Aimee Sumner, Suite 607, Westchester Psychiatric.

I don't write to Mum or Charlie.

"Why don't you write to them?" the nurse said. "At least call them."

I only picked up my pad of paper and showed her the blank page, meaning I have nothing to say to her…

As of what happened two years ago, why would I have anything to say to her? My life is nothing but a void…a long, black, cold, empty void of nothing. I feel nothing, love nothing, and live in a nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Three years ago…

"Man got his woman

To take his seat

He got the power, oh

She got the need

Spends her life through

Pleasin' up her man

Feeds him dinner oh

Anything she can…"

-Alice Cooper, 'Only Women Bleed'

_Welcome to my Nightmare_

It was fall and the wind was blowing hard that day. The wind whistles and the branches on the trees slap against each other and the shutter beats repeatedly against the window. It's the first day of school and Mum came into my room, shaking me awake.

"Come on, Aimee," she said in my ear; her breath was velvet. "Time to go to school. You have to drive Charlie too."

"No, Mum!" I said, hiding my head under the pillow. "I'm having a good dream!"

"I know you are, sweetie, but you can dream about it tonight when you go to bed."

She pulls the covers off me, sending a cold chill. The hair on my legs stands on end; I haven't shaved in a while.

"Come on, spider legs," she says, teasingly, rubbing the hair on my legs. "You don't want to be late on the first day of school. It's a good time to shower, shave, and have breakfast!"

"Mum! You're so annoying!" I laughed, throwing a pillow at her.

I get out of bed, pull off my 'Alice Cooper's School for Troubled Youth' shirt that I made and my sweatpants off and jump in the shower. Washing my body, I feel the changes that I'm going through: my shoulders are smooth, my breasts are firmer and fuller, my hips have developed rich curves, and the blood going down the drain…I looked down and there was blood, not only going down the drain, but in my hand and going down my thigh. It was just my period…and my first one. I've always seen lots of Mum's soiled bloody pads and tampons thrown away in the garbage. After my shower, I grabbed a pad from Mum's bathroom and laid it carefully on the crotch of my panties and stepped into them, feeling the soft cloth between my legs.

I came downstairs, my long hair in a ponytail. Charlie was on the floor, playing some stupid video game, making exploding noises. The wind outside blew hard, making noises. I petted Poppy as he ate his food in a circle and sat at the table, pouring my Corn Flakes and milk into my bowl. I didn't feel hungry once I looked at the mush; the menstrual cramps hurt and made me sick.

"I hope that's not the game where you blow people up," Mum said.

"It isn't, Mom," he said.

"Liar," I said to him. He stuck his tongue at me. I kicked him.

"Mom! Aimee kicked me!" he yelled.

"Mum, Charlie stuck his tongue at me." I said in a sarcastic tone similar to his.

"Now, kids," she said, sternly. "Behave!"

"Mom, why does Aimee call you 'Mum'?" asked Charlie.

"Because she just does, Charlie."

"It sounds funny."

"Your face is funny!" I said.

"Aimee!" Mum said, sternly. "That's enough. Leave your brother alone."

When Mum got angry, her voice was like cold steel that sent chills up your spine. Her face became red in her cheeks and her eyes glittered furiously. When she got really angry, it was probably a good time to evacuate.

"Sorry, Mum!" I sighed.

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to your brother."

"Sorry, Charlie…" I said. "Horse."

"Mom! She called me Charlie Horse!"

"What? I think it's a cute name for you, Charlie Horse."

"Aimee! Stop picking on your brother!"

I sighed, knowing she'd always take Charlie's side and leave me unarmed. Two versus one. I played with the charm bracelet that I wore. It had three charms on it so far: one from Mum (Mommy's Girl), one from Daddy (Daddy's Girl), and one from Shawn, that was a little heart.

"Hi, Aimee," said Daddy, planting a kiss on my cheek. I like the way his lips felt on my cheek: warm and silky. I was Daddy's favorite.

"Hi, Daddy," I said.

"Dad, Dad!" said Charlie, excitedly. "Look at what I can do. I've been practicing."

He put his hand under his arm and made farting noises. Dad giggled and Mum looked like she was on the verge of laughing, I rolled my eyes.

"That's brilliant, kiddo," said Daddy.

"Where did you learn that?" I said, disgustedly.

"Dad taught me, dork," Charlie said.

"I'm sure he did," I said, rolling my eyes.

It was quiet for a while. I watched as Daddy went to watch TV in the other room.

"Daddy, can Shawn come to Charlie's birthday party?" I blurted out.

"Shawn?" said Mum, her eyebrows raised. "Who's Shawn?"

"Oh…" I said, blushing. "He's this guy I know at school."

Mum smiled that little impish smile and her tongue was stuck out between her teeth.

"Ooh!" Mum said. "Aimee and the boys. My little baby's growing up." She tickled me, almost causing me to choke on my Corn Flakes.

Charlie laughed. "Aimee and Shawn, sitting in a tree, kay-eye-ess-ess-eye-en-gee…" he teased.

"Shut up, squirt!" I said, blushing. "Someday your hormones will kick in and you'll be wanking in the bathroom with your stupid horny friends in front of _Playboy_ models."

"Huh?" Charlie said, stupidly. Mum gave me a stern look again and I shut up.

"Mom, what's 'wanking' mean?" Charlie asked. "And what's 'horny' and _Playboy_?"

"Never you mind. I'll tell you when you're older."

He laughed at me and I slapped him on the back of the head.

"OW!" he yelled. "What did you do that for, Aimee?"

"No reason, it's fun," I said, smiling. Mum gave me her stern look again and I wiped the smile off my face.

Mum packed lunch for Charlie and me. Daddy and I went to our cars and Charlie hopped in the back seat of my car. I started my car and turned on my Alice Cooper, singing to 'Billion Dollar Babies'. Charlie rolled his eyes.

"Aimee," he sighed. "Why do we have to listen to Alice Cooper?"

"Because," I said, for the one-hundredth time, "I like him and this is my car and I pick the music."

We were quiet for a while and I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, made whooping sounds, made bull's horns with my hand; my flame ring on my pointer flashed in the light. Charlie rolled his eyes and tried to hide his stupid face underneath his hat to hide himself because everyone was staring.

Soon, I had a feeling inside of me that I had never felt before. The blood from my menstrual period flowing onto the pad on my panties felt cold and my brain just froze. I could see Mum, the colorful balloons that she struggled to get passed and another man walking in the opposite direction towards Mum with an armful of books. Soon, they bumped into each other, her falling down on top of him as the wind blew her over.

"Aimee?" said Charlie.

"What?" I said, shaking my head.

"You look like you went into a trance. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just thought I had a hallucination."

"What's a hallucination?"

"It's seeing things that aren't there."

"What did you see?"

"I dunno."

Charlie shrugged and shook it off. I too did the same.

We got to the parking lot and went to the parking lot at Charlie's school. The vision came back. I saw Mum walking up the apartment stairs with some handsome man; he was a handsome guy with an unshaven face and long hair like he just rolled out of bed. He reminded me of Olivier Martinez. Their lips moved, but nothing came out. They went inside, but I could hear the garbled sounds of a baby crying, echoing in my head. Now, I saw a place that had lots of books and Mum walked to the bathroom, sitting on the tub with her foot on the toilet seat, nursing her scrapes on her knees. Then, I saw flames flare up from a stove and liquid pouring into green glasses.

"Aimee?" said Charlie's voice, echoing in the distance. It got louder. "Aimee?"

"Huh?" I said, shaking it off.

"Let's go! We're late!"

"Oh! Sorry. I was daydreaming."

"Aimee, are you going to pick me up?"

"Dunno. But if I don't, have Mum or Gloria pick you up."

"Bye, dork."

"Bye, ass crack."

"I'm telling Mom you said the 'A' word."

"Just get the fuc-I mean, get out."

Charlie got out and stuck his tongue out at me and was about to get out when he looked out the window and looked scared.

"What?"

"Bullies," he said.

"OK, stupid," I sighed, exasperated. This kid was impossible. "I'll walk you in 'cause no one is gonna beat up my baby brother. And if they do, I'll kick their asses."

"Thanks, dork."

"Dork means 'penis', stupid. And I, number one, don't have one. I have a vagina, thank you."

"What's a vagina?"

"Never mind. Let's go!" I spanked his ass.

"OW!" He yelled. "What was that for?"

"Nothing, it's funny," I said, laughing.

"But it hurts!" He rubbed his sore ass.

We got out of the car and walked to the school. Shawn saw us and ran up to meet me. He had a mullet hair cut with a shark earring and a matching necklace.

"Hey, Aimee!" he said.

"Hi, Shawn!" I said, giving him a hug. "I like the earring."

"Thanks. Got it yesterday."

"Cool!"

"Who's the little dude?"

"My brother, Charlie."

"Hey, little dude. I'm Shawn."

Charlie looked at him and gave him a disgusted look.

"You're dating this guy!" Charlie said incredulously. "He looks ugly."

"Charlie! Just go to school." I hit his ass as he walked away. To Shawn, "Sorry. He's kind of a pain in the ass."

Shawn laughed. "Aren't all brothers?"

Shawn and I walked to French glass. Mr. Denver is our teacher. He's kind of old and a bit weird and he smells funny. He speaks French really nasally and he shakes like Ozzy Osbourne. I passed a note to Shawn saying:

_Just let his hair grow long and put on some blue sunglasses and black clothes and he'll look like Ozzy. _

Shawn snickered.

_Yea I know. Say, you doing anything this weekend, Aimee?_

_Yea, my brother, Charlie's having a birthday party. Turning 9. _

_Sweet! I'd like to meet your parents and it would give us a change to hang out._

_Yea…_

"Aimee Sumner!" said Mr. Denver, angrily, "Are you passing notes in class?"

"No, monsieur," I said, smiling and blushing innocently when my devil horns were really shining.

"Come up here."

I took the note and I handed it to him, blushing.

"Now, read it out loud to the class. Maybe that'll teach you not to pass notes in class."

I cleared my throat, and thought of the Alice Cooper song 'You and Me'.

"Dear Shawn," I said in an amorous voice, batting my eyes. "When I get home from work, I want to wrap myself around you."

The girls giggled and the boys snickered.

"I want to take you and squeeze you 'till the passion starts to rise…"

More giggles and snickers.

"I want to take you to heaven, that would make my day complete. But you and me ain't no movies stars, what we are is what we are. We share a bed and loving and TV. But that's enough for a working man. What I am is what I am. I tell you sweetheart, you're just enough for me. Love, Aimee."

Everyone laughed and I blushed 'till I was red as a tomato. Shawn was laughing too.

"Well, since you enjoy making the class laugh, Aimee, you've got detention. Here."

He handed me a detention slip. I sat down and sighed, but I had never felt so satisfied with what I had read.

Charlie had to be picked up by Gloria because I had detention. Ah! Detention. A place where there's nothing but boredom. Ho-hum. You can't talk to people, pass notes, eat your lunch, but only do homework. I hate doing homework. So, I just take out my sketchbook and do the assignment for art class. We had to draw things that you see. I did Mum, walking down the street in the wind, the balloons in her path, falling on top of some guy, her long graceful, sleek legs and her cut knees with her foot on the toilet seat, the fire from the stove and the liquid running from the tea kettle in green glasses.

"Miss Sumner," says the detention teacher, Miss Granger. "Is that homework you're doing?" Miss Granger is fat and old and has a Southern accent, but very masculine voice. She usually is a nice lady if you stay on her good side and sometimes if she likes you, she'll trade lunches with you if you don't like yours.

"Yes ma'am," I said. "It's for art class."

She kneels next to me and looks at my drawings. She studies them with her grey eyes.

"These are really good, Aimee," she said. "Are you the one that did that nude portrait of Alice Cooper?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said, quietly.

"That one I liked. Alice is my favorite singer."

"Me too, ma'am."

"Who's the lady? Is that your mother?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Are those her legs? Damn, they're mighty fine. Wish I had legs like that."

I'm now beet red and my heart is hammering hard in my chest.

"What are all these things?"

"Things I see."

"Who's the guy?"

"Dunno," I lied. "I've never seen him before."

After detention, Shawn and I went to his car to make out. I like the way his hands felt on my body, how he caressed my skin, especially my belly and the way his thumb rubbed my bra cup, making the nipple rise. I got so excited that another flow blood from my menstrual period rushed out like a waterfall. Shawn pushed my denim skirt up to touch my thighs; I liked that. He kissed my inner thighs lightly, starting at my knee and working his way down. He saw my blood-spotted underpants and stopped.

"Oh!" he said, smiling. "Period?"

I blushed. "Yea. First one."

"No shit!"

"Yea."

"Remember the movie, 'Carrie'? Remember when she got her period in the shower at school and thought she was dying."

"Yea. Love that movie, but Mum would never let me watch it because it has 'sexuality, nudity, language, and graphic violence' that's not appropriate." I rolled my eyes.

"Well, you're old enough to know that it's not real."

"Duh! But I got to watch it at a sleepover when I was friends' with evil Stephanie Kirkwood. That movie freaked me out, especially Carrie's mum. I mean if my Mum was a religious fanatic like Carrie's mum was, I'd probably shoot her."

Shawn laughed. "Yea, me too. I mean, what happened between you two?"

"Dunno. She got involved with her bullshit cheerleading and I got involved with my artwork. Jesus, I hate that fucking bitch! I could shoot her."

"Remember that time she asked me to the Spring Dance last year and I refused because I liked you?"

I laughed and blushed. "Yea. That was very loyal of you. Come here, sugar."

We kept making out 'till it was about four o'clock. Shawn gave me one last kiss goodbye.

"Maybe some other time when you don't have 'the curse of blood.'" He mimicked Piper Laurie's voice from _Carrie_.

I laughed. "Shut up!"

"I'll call you."

"Yea. Call me."

He went to his car and I drove home through SoHo and to the house. Mum was waiting for me. She looked stern.

"Hi, Mum," I said, smiling.

"Charlie told me you got a detention."

"That little bastard!" I said. "Where is he so I can kick his little skinny ass?"

"Hey! Watch your language or you'll be eating soap, Aimee Christine. Come inside. You've got a lot of explaining to do to me and your father."

We sat in the kitchen and I explained to Mum and Daddy that I was passing notes in French class because Mr. Denver was so boring and he made me read the note out loud, making me look like a total loser.

"Where is this note?"

I took it out of my pocket and showed it to them. Mum and Daddy read it.

"Mr. Denver told us that the note was like a poem."

"I only did it to make everyone laugh, that's all."

"This is nothing like a poem you read to the class. But I'm glad you told us the truth, sweetie."

"So, what's my punishment?"

Mum and Daddy looked at each other, shocked that I wanted a punishment.

"OK. Kitchen and yard duty for a week," Daddy said.

"Fine."

"Now, go do your homework."

"Can I have a hug and kiss?"

They laughed. And yes, they did give me one.

I looked at my sketchbook in my room. I wanted to know who the guy was Mum bumped into.

Later that night, I couldn't sleep. I could hear Daddy and Mum's voice in the room next door. I got up and tiptoed quietly to their room. The door was open a crack and I kneeled in front of the door and peeked through the crack. I couldn't see them too well, but I could see Mum dressed in a silk nightgown and Daddy pointing a video camera at her.

Just then, I felt cold again and…I saw myself looking through the lens of the camera, like I was looking through Daddy's eyes. I saw Mum crawl onto the bed and stretch under the camera like a cat stretching out while Daddy got a shot of her perfect ass. My vision of looking through the camera faded away and this time, I saw Mum sitting on Daddy's lap, her legs around his waist, kissing him passionately. Then, she took his hand and pressed it into her breast and the strap on her shoulder fell. Daddy cupped her breast in his large hand, squeezed and massaged it lovingly. I watched as they fell on the mattress, kissing, her leg wrapped around his waist and his hand on her bottom. It was like being a little kid watching a porn show through a hole. Daddy picked up the camera again and I could see Mum again through the camera, showing her shoulder and her face. Mum covered her face with her hand and soon the camera was placed on the bed, showing me the wrinkled white sheets. I went to watching Daddy and Mum kiss and touch each other and lie on the bed.

"MOM!" called Charlie from the next room.

Damn it, Charlie! I was just getting to the good part. Daddy broke the kiss and got up from the bed.

"I'll be right back," he said. He got out of bed and grabbed his sweatpants that he had dropped on the floor and pulled them over his boxer shorts.

Mum picked up the camera and pointed it towards Daddy as he put on his pants. I could see Mum's beautiful legs through the camera, her knees up and the black silk bunched at her crotch.

"Don't fall asleep," said Daddy.

Once Daddy went to Charlie's room, I tiptoed back to my own room, hoping I wouldn't be caught. The pant-liner on my panties was soaking wet…


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"He lies right at you

You know you hate this game…"

-Alice Cooper, 'Only Women Bleed'

_Welcome To My Nightmare_, 1975

Friday, another day of going to school and my period is still there. I drove Charlie to school.

"Charlie," I said.

"What?"

"What do you want for your birthday?"

"I dunno."

"How about an ear piercing?" I laughed when I said this.

"What? No way, Jose!" he shook his face. "I'll look like a girl."

"Will not! Shawn has one."

"That means he's a girl."

"Does not, butt crack!"

"Does too."

I just rolled my eyes, ignoring how stupid he is.

"Aimee?"

"What?"

"When can I drive your car?"

"Does 'when pigs fly' sound good enough for you?"

"Look! I think I just saw one fly."

"Yea, sure, Charlie Horse! Bullshit." I said sarcastically.

"You said the 'BS' word. You have to put a dollar in the swear jar."

"Since when is there a swear jar?"

"Mom said to me that any time I catch you swearing, you have to put a dollar in the swearing jar."

"Fine, you little jockstrap. Here's a twenty. That should cover me all day." I gave him a 20-dollar bill, shoving it in his hand. His eyes lit up with joy.

"I'm rich…" Charlie's voice faded.

Then, I felt cold again. I think I had another vision. This time, I saw Mum at the telephone at Grand Central, talking on the phone. I saw her get on the train to that guy's apartment building. I saw the street name: Mercer, doorbells, about four or five: name on the doorbell: Martel, 3 zoomed in. Then, a long stairway and the OUT OF ORDER elevator on the left, I saw her walking up the stairs, in her denim jeans, talking to the same guy she bumped into yesterday.

"Aimee?" said Charlie. "Stop daydreaming! We're late for school."

"I-I, sorry."

Something was wrong. Why was I having these visions of Mum? It was almost I had some kind of connection with her. I had to talk to someone about these visions I was having. No! That'd get me a 72-hour lock down in the psycho ward with an injection of Thorzine.

Could I be precognitive? But all that I was seeing was in the present, not the future. I did have another vision during English class. The Martel guy's hand caressing Mum's neck with his fingers as he took off her coat, Mum's hand and the Martel guy's hand, gliding it over some kind of book with 3-D dots. Then, he grabbed Mum's hand and held it. Mum pulled her hand out of it and ran out. What were these visions I was having? Mr. Bates, my stupid unfair English teacher with glasses and bald on top, scolded me for daydreaming and almost gave me a detention.

I ran to the library to find out why I was having these visions of the present. I searched for psychics, visions, etc. I found a book called VISIONS: PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE by Dr. Philip George. I sat down and flipped through it. It was boring! All it talked about were people who could talk to the dead; read people's minds, seeing the future…who gives a shit! Then, I found it:

_Clairvoyance_ is the ability to perceive objects or events that cannot be seen. It is believed that most clairvoyants can see visions of events, such as past or present and objects and people, such as ghosts or their seductor/seductress…

Jesus! It got worse and even more boring! What did I care what so-and-so did? This sucks! What do I care! I slammed the book closed…maybe I could do some research on clairvoyance. I signed the book out and stuffed it in my bag.

I picked up Charlie and Gloria, our housekeeper. She was black and from the South and really funny.

"Gloria?" I said.

"What?" she said; she raised her dark eyebrows.

"Do you believe in miracles?"

"What do you mean as in by miracles?"

"You know, like miraculous things, like angels helping a sports team win or having the power to see the past, present, future or moving things with your mind."

"Have you been watching some movie like that again?"

"No. I just wanted to ask."

"Um…I do believe that people who are born with these powers do exist and the possibility of miraculous things happening. So, yes, I think I do believe in miracles and having the ability to do the unthinkable that science cannot explain."

Once at home, Mum and I folded laundry. I could barely look at her. Why was she seeing this Martel guy? Who was he?

In my room in my solitude, I drew the doorbell, the stairs, the out-of-order elevator, and Mum's hands, Martel's hands on the Braille, his hands caressing her neck when he took off her coat, his hand holding Mum's…

It was Saturday; tomorrow was Charlie's birthday party. I found a shopping bag in Mum's room: inside it was a blue cashmere sweater, men's size.

"Mum?" I asked. "Who's the sweater for?"

"It's for Daddy," she said.

She came out of the bathroom, dressed in a white blouse, a black silk skirt that came to the knee and a sweater with high heels. Mum never wears high heels.

"Mum?" I said. "Why are you dressed like that? Where are you going?"

"Nowhere special, Aimee. I'm going to see your father, then after that, to an auction. There are fish fingers in the microwave you guys can have for dinner. Make sure Charlie has a bath and goes to bed before 9:00."

Why would she go to an auction dressed like that? But I already knew where Mum was going: to that 'Martel, 3''s apartment. I nodded when she told me to take care of Charlie. I'm going to find out who this guy was.

I went to get the phone book and looked for 'Martel, 3'. I ran my finger down the page until it was black with ink and it smudged. Mart, Marta, Martel…voilà. But there were so many Martels and there were a few that were unlisted. So I dialed 411.

"Information, how may I help you?" said the operator's voice.

"Yes," I said. "I'm looking for a name and address of a person."

"Where?"

"I think SoHo or Manhattan."

"OK. Can you tell me the name and address of the person you're looking for?"

"That's the sad thing, ma'am. I know the name, just not the address. It's Martel and it has a 3 in it and Mercer Street."

"One moment, please."

I waited. Charlie came in.

"Come on, Aimee! Play Nintendo with me!" He whined in his annoyingly whiny voice.

"Just a second, stupid! I'm busy." I said through my teeth.

"Talking to your boyfriend?" he said teasingly.

"Shut up!"

"Miss," said the operator. "Can you spell the last name again?"

"M-A-R-T-E-L. And it has a number 3 and Mercer Street."

"What's that?" Charlie asked.

"Go away, stupid!" I mouthed to Charlie.

"I did find one listing. Martel, Paul, 233 Mercer Street, Apartment 3. Is that correct?"

"Yes." I wrote it down.

"Do you want me to connect you to his residence?"

"No, thanks."

"OK, then. Bye."

"Wait! I want his phone number!" I said, but she was gone. "Aw, shit!"

"You said the 'S' word," said Charlie.

"Charlie, if you don't tell Mum or Daddy that I swore, I'll let you kill me in Nintendo."

"Um…OK." He smiled. "But there's a price you have to pay."

"What?"

"20 bucks."

I sighed and gave him twenty bucks out of my jean pocket.

"Yay! I'm rich!" he said in a high voice.

We played Nintendo and he killed me lots of times, even though I was pretending to try. Then, I felt so cold like a dead corpse: my body went stiff, my blood stopped flowing and it went cold, my skin felt cold too and my hands were cold too. I could see Mum in my vision. Mum was dancing with this Paul Martel, the guy I saw in my first two visions; his face was shaven though. They were dancing to some kind of tribal music, but it was distorted and too soft to hear it clearly. I couldn't see or hear what they were saying, but he was looking into Mum's eyes deeply. I watched as her hands were just at the nape on his neck, her gold ring glittered from the light. When he walked away (CD skipping, perhaps) I saw her lips soon move, saying 'I think this is a mistake.'

His lips moved, 'There is no such thing as mistake. It's what you do and don't do.'

I watched her turn to the door.

"HA HA!" Charlie laughed loudly when he blew me up, distorting my vision. "I killed you."

"Excuse me, Charlie. I have to go to the bathroom."

"Aw, Aimee! You stink! I was having fun killing you."

"Yes, I know you were. I'll be right back, OK, stupid? Play for me."

I ran to the bathroom, a place that was quiet and I could concentrate better. I waited until it came back. Now, I saw Mum coming back in, her lips moving, but inaudible. Paul swept her off her feet, her arms wrapped around his neck and he carried her to the back room…then, it was gone!

"No!" I whispered. "No! Come back! Come back!"

I concentrated harder. The vision was weak, and then it became clearer…there was a hand unbuttoning the bottom button of Mum's blouse until I could see her flat belly and her deep navel. His hand moved south to that place between her thighs on top of her silk skirt. I saw Mum's face, red and trembling, lying on her back; the tendons in her neck stood out. Now I saw his finger caress her navel, teasing it, then her belly and her hipbones. Now his hand slipped past the waistband of her skirt and caressed her skin there beneath her panties. Then, he leaned forward and blew on the surface of her belly and Mum, still red and trembling. I could hear her whimpering, but it was too soft to hear it clearly.

Now, Paul was pushing her skirt up 'till her white cotton panties were in view and he began to caress Mum's milky smooth thighs and touch her in that place: that sensitive place between her thighs that was warm, soft, and wet. Mum kept trying to close her legs, but he forced them open with his caressing. I felt my stomach turn and flop over sickly. I wanted the vision to stop, but I wanted to see more at the same time.

Now, I saw her panties being pulled down her long, sleek legs, making her vulnerable to him. I saw as he pulled off his shirt, unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants; I got a glimpse of his erection: huge and swollen with a ruby tip. He leaned forward towards Mum and to my shock, her legs opened, letting him in; I felt as if I were shot in the stomach with a shotgun at close range. When I looked at them now, I felt like I was standing right next to them and saw Mum's lips moved, 'I can't do this.' Then, Mum starting hitting him, softly at first, then harder. He moved on her roughly and he was necking her and she was biting his ear and shoulder, her fingernails dug into his back, kissing him back, with tongues entwined, his huge penis entered her secret entrance and she rocked her hips…

Oh shit! I DID feel sick. I threw up in the toilet and the vision disappeared instantly.

"Aimee?" said Charlie's voice. "Are you sick?"

"Yes…I…" I said, miserably. I threw up again. He came in and saw me hanging on the toilet like a drunk with a hangover.

"Want me to call 911?" he asked.

"No, stupid…" I said, wiping the drool from my mouth. "It's just food poisoning." I threw up again. Then, I flushed the toilet, wiping more acidic drool.

"Food poisoning!" he yelled. "I'm calling 911!"

"NO!" I yelled. "It's not that bad. I'll be fine. I don't think I can play anymore Nintendo, I think I'll be sick if I do."

Charlie looked sympathetic and put his hand on my head. "You have a fever, Aimee." Then, touched my hands. "Your hands are cold and clammy. You need an aspirin."

"I'm fine, Charlie. I just…" I threw up again in the toilet.

"Four times! Wow! I've never thrown up that much."

"Charlie, go to your room and stay there until Mum or Dad gets home, OK?"

I stayed in bed, trying to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw the horrible pictures of Mum and Paul having sex. I trembled, my stomach twisted into a knot, I sweat profusely in terror as I saw the pictures and I threw up again in the trashcan, coughing. I pulled the covers over my head, but the pictures were still there in the dark. I felt like a little kid having nightmares repeatedly, thinking the monster under my bed or in my closet is going to come out and eat me. When I pulled the covers off, I could see them on the walls.

"Leave me alone!" I yelled. "Go away!"

"Aimee?" I heard Charlie's voice. "Who are you talking to?"

"No one."

Charlie opened the door and poked his monkey face in. "Having bad dreams?"

"Yea," I said. I turned over, burying my head under the pillow.

"If you're sick, Aimee, you'll miss my birthday party."

"No I won't, stupid. I wouldn't miss your party for the world." My stomach declared mutiny and I threw up again in the trashcan.

"Ew!" Charlie said.

"Hello?" I heard Mum's voice from downstairs. "Anyone home?"

Charlie ran down the stairs and said, "Mom, come quick. Aimee's got food poisoning."

"Food poisoning? What do you mean?"

"She threw up six times."

"Aimee?" said Mum's voice and I heard her heels clomp up the stairs; it sounded like giant feet stomping than tiny feet running. She opened my door and came to my bedside.

"Honey? Are you all right?" She sat on my bed, but I turned away from her. I was mad at her for opening her legs for some stranger instead of Daddy.

"I'm fine," I said coldly.

"Do you want me to make you some soup?" Her voice sounded friendly, but to me, it sounded like a thousand cold spikes and nails stabbing me all over.

"Don't bother. I'm too sick to eat."

"How about some tea, honey?" she touched my shoulder; it felt like a heavy lead crushing me. I only lied there like a stone.

"No."

"Honey, what's the matter?"

"Nothing. I just want to be alone."

"OK, honey. You can take a nap." She stroked my hair and I lay there like a stone, angry and hurt. If she did it again, I would never speak to her again.

When she left, I drew the pictures of everything in my sketchbook, hoping to get them out of my system. I drew her smooth belly with her deep navel being caressed with Paul's hand, his hand inside the waistband of her skirt, caressing the skin there. His face, blowing on her belly, his hands caressing her thighs and her panties being pulled off her graceful legs. I drew her nipping at his ear and clawing his back and him necking her. His huge, erect dick with dark hair, him inside Mum. They all made me sick that I had to stop…

Midnight. It was quiet. Everyone was asleep. The pain inside was growing. Growing. Growing. I crept out of bed, went to the bathroom, locking the door. I looked through the medicine cabinet for the nail scissors, taking out an old washcloth, looked in the mirror at myself…


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"All my toys are broken,

And so am I inside, Mom…"

-Alice Cooper, Steven,

Welcome to my Nightmare (1975)

"You can't run,

You can't hide

You can't tell me what I feel inside…"

-Ozzy Osbourne, Mr. Tinkertrain,

No More Tears (1991)

Next morning, I found blood had seeped through the sleeves of my sweatshirt. Shit! I had to hide it! Shit! Shit! Shit! I looked through my drawer to find something to hide it, hide what I had done…I hid it underneath my wristband. She'd never ask why I had it on. I crumpled my bloody sweatshirt and stuffed in the bottom drawer.

When I came down, I refused to look at Mum. I didn't even say good morning or give her a hug or kiss like I usually did. I just walked passed her, pretending she was invisible.

"Good morning, Aimee," she said.

"Hmph!" I said, grumpily, pretending to read the newspaper.

"Someone's grumpy today."

She was trying to be funny, but to me, it wasn't. Obviously she was pretending nothing was wrong. I didn't answer her. I was too pissed off to talk to her.

"Aimee?" she said, kneeling next to me. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said.

"What are you so angry about?"

"Nothing," I replied.

"Well, you'd better wipe that grumpy sour puss face off, Aimee." She was trying to be funny again, but I only ignored her. "Because it's Charlie's birthday."

She gave me a kiss on the cheek, but I only wiped it off with the back of my hand and on my pants when she wasn't looking.

I did feel a bit better on Charlie's birthday party. Shawn came too, but I couldn't talk to him. I had never felt so angry at Mum after my vision last night.

"Aimee?" he said. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

I leaned towards him and rested my head on his shoulder, wanting him to hold me and I nuzzled his neck. He rubbed my arm and wrapped his arm around my shoulders and kissed my temples and nuzzled my hair, smelling it.

"Shawn?"

"Yea?"

"Do you love me?"

"Yes. More than life itself, Aimee."

"I love you too."

"Will you promise to always be faithful to me?"

"Always from death do us part."

I giggled and kissed his cheek. I liked having someone near me to hold me when I felt sad. His warmth made me feel better. He placed his hand on the nape of my neck and rubbed my two studs in my earlobe with his thumb; I liked that. Then, he rubbed the part where my jaw and ear met; that I really liked. His other hand went around my waist and rubbed my pelvic bone. I enjoyed that. He necked me and kissed my ear.

But, I sat up and saw Mum go into the house.

"What?" he said.

"'Scuse me," I said. "I'll be right back." I kissed his lips.

"OK."

I peeped through the door and quietly snuck into the house and listened to her talk on the phone on the other line. I heard her say, "OK, see you later. 'Bye." She hung up. I ran before she could see me. I saw her tell Daddy she had to go somewhere; her lips moved but I couldn't hear anything. Daddy nodded. She got in the car and went to him! Slut!

I went inside and into the bathroom, concentrating. The noise outside distracted me, but I shut the window, shutting the noise out. I saw Mum sitting on a chair, her jeans open and her hand down her pants, smiling. I saw Paul Martel too, in the bed, shirtless, looking at her, smiling back. Now I saw her laughing while he held her upside down; the laughter was soft, but I still couldn't hear it. Then, kissing. It all made me sick. I wanted to kill that fucking whore and bastard! I saw her sleeping, her T-shirt was still on, her breasts were loose and the nipples stood beneath the material like pearls, and the white sheets covering the bottom half of her body. Paul Martel moved the sheets down her hip and drew an arrow and a clover. Fucking asshole! I thought angrily.

"Aimee?" said Daddy's voice. "Aimee! Come outside, please. I need you."

I got out of the bathroom, fuming. I hate Mum! I hate her and her fucking asshole lover, Paul. I wish I were there at the apartment, pointing a gun at them both in bed and I would've shot both of them, not caring if they were dead or alive, watching the blood splay on the walls and soak the sheets.

"Aimee," said Shawn. "Are you OK? You're acting strange today. Is something bothering you?"

"I'm fine." I lied.

"How about I take you for a ride, Aimee?" Shawn said. "To get you away from the kiddy zone."

"Sure. I could use that." To Daddy, "Daddy, I'm going with Shawn."

"All right," he said. "Be back before dinner."

"I will."

"And you take care of her, Shawn," Daddy said to him.

"I will, sir. I'll bring her back."

"Just let me go get my stuff."

I ran inside, grabbed my backpack and my sketchbook. We climbed into Shawn's car and Shawn turned on Ozzy Osbourne on the radio; we love Ozzy. We think he's funny and his music is really mystical, scary, like living in a hallucination when you listen to Ozzy. He sang 'Mr. Tinkertrain'. That song always has freaked me out. It makes me feel like a child in the dark being molested by a stranger.

"So, you know, what's wrong? Is there something you wanted to tell me?"

"It's nothing," I lied again.

"How about I take you to have some ice cream?"

"Sure."

I did feel better when we went to an ice cream parlor. Shawn got me a butter pecan ice cream for me. I felt much better after we had ice cream. The cool sweet satin on my tongue calmed my nerves, but that didn't make my anger and hatred go away.

When we got home in time for dinner, Shawn gave me a kiss goodnight and said that he'd call me. Mum was home and so was Daddy, playing Nintendo with Charlie.

"Oh, hi, sweetie," said Mum, her voice sounding friendly, but it felt like a thousand needles. "How was your day?"

I didn't answer her. I was mad at her and I hated her. I ran up the stairs and slammed the door.

"That's funny," said Daddy. "Why didn't she answer you? She always answers you when she comes home."

"I know. Maybe she didn't have a good day."

"My day went fine!" I yelled down the stairs.

I went to my bed and lied down, drawing Mum and Paul and their day today after she missed Charlie's birthday party and had fun with him in bed. I drew her hand inside her undone pants, Paul smiling at her with his shirt off and a tattoo of a dragon on his chest, smiling at her, Paul holding her upside down and her laughing, Mum asleep and her rich, curvy hip with the drawing that Paul did. I had to think of a title of these portraits that I did from my visions. I would call them: _Ma Mère, le Putian_, meaning 'My Mum, the Whore' in French or perhaps, _La Femme Infidèle_, Unfaithful Woman. I think they both sounded like good titles.

I heard the water turn on in Mum's bathroom, she was going to take a bath. Quietly, I snuck out of my room, tiptoeing towards her room and hid behind the open door to watch her through the crack like a child watching a porno show through a hole in the wall. She was dressed in a white robe; I watched as lit candles, poured sweet smelling bath oils, and turn on the stereo…it was that African music I heard when she was dancing with Paul…that dreadful tune hurt my ears and gave me a headache and made me feel sick to my stomach. I had a desperate desire to wait until my mother was in the bath and throw the stereo in the tub, electrifying her to death, not caring at all…but I knew I had to stay very still.

Then, she took her robe off, letting it fall and her bare back and buttocks towards me; I liked the soft contour of her spine and her smooth, and her plump bottom. Her graceful, sleek legs shone in the light in the bathroom with the sheen of satin. She reached for the clasp that held her hair and let her hair loose, shaking it out, seeing the sides of her full breasts. She hung her robe on the door and I saw her naked front; her full, milky breasts hung gracefully and her nipples were café-au-lait pebbled from the cold air and I saw the nest of dark, springy curls at the juncture of her thighs. The steam from the bath rose as she stepped into the tub, facing sideways sunk into the satin of the bathwater. There was the scent of lavender coming from the bath.

She sat in the warm bathwater with the candles lit. Her knees were up and she swayed them left and right, watching them. The candles glowed on her Madonna skin. I watched as her hands went to her breasts with the soap, washing them in gentle, graceful circular motions. I watched as she looked down and she began to scrub vigorously. Of course she was washing the doodle that Paul had drawn on her hip.

Soon, I heard Daddy's footsteps and prayed that he didn't find me, hiding behind the door, spying on my mother in the tub; well I've seen her naked lots of times since I was a child: I had seen her naked when I was born, and I bathed with her when I was a child. He didn't see me, thank God and I let out a quiet sigh of and I watched as he turned off the lights in the bathroom. Mum's eyes darted towards Daddy, startled.

"Got room for two?" he said, quietly.

"Yea," she said; I could hear her voice quivering nervously.

I watched as he took off his specs, pulled off his sweatshirt; his back was beautiful like a carved statue of marble and his shoulders were broad and strong. Now he dropped his sweatpants and underpants and stepped out of them. His buttocks were smooth and muscled and his legs were covered with soft hair. I have never seen him naked in my life and this was the first time I had seen him. I watched as he stepped into the tub and saw his smooth, hairless chest with café-au-lait nipples and, holy shit! I've never seen this side of him before! I saw dark hair at his groin, his fuzzy peach testicles hanging between his legs and his length of silky smooth penis with a shiny tip. I blushed hard and tried not to laugh because he was indeed beautiful like Michelangelo's David. If only I could draw this right now…

I watched him put his hands on her scarred knees, kissing and caressing them; I could see the light brown hair under his arms. He handed her his drink that he had brought in with him and she drank it.

"What kind of music is this?" he asked.

"African," Mum whispered.

"I like it."

I couldn't believe my ears! He liked this shitty music! It sounded like unintelligible bullshit! Hearing this music made me sick to my stomach, remembering the vision I had of her when she first fucked Paul.

He continued to caress her legs and Mum watched him, but she had a look of guilt, but Daddy didn't notice it. He caressed her inner thighs and Mum looked uncomfortable. Now his hand dipped below the water to between her thighs and when he leaned to kiss her, Mum shied away from him.

"I'm done," she said. "I want to get out."

"Stay," he said quietly.

He was kissing her, but she shied away from him. "I'm cold. Please, let me out."

She got out of the tub, grabbed her robe (I saw her breasts and the dark triangle of springy curls right in front of me) and put it on, leaving poor Daddy all alone in the tub, looking hurt that he didn't get what he wanted from his wife. Soon, Mum closed the door and she saw me huddling in the corner! Her eyes glittered.

"What are you doing there?" she asked.

"Nothing!" I said.

"Aimee! Did you see us?"

"No!" I lied; my face blushed and a smile began to curve at the corners.

"Yes, you did."

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help it!"

She took me by the ear playfully and dragged me into the bathroom, showing me to my father like a culprit that had been caught spying on her own parents, stripping down ass naked and bathing in the tub.

"Look what I found," she said. "Smells like a spy, doesn't it, Edward?"

"What were you doing?" he said. "Were you watching us?"

"Yes, sir, I was. I couldn't help it!"

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Aimee Christine Sumner! Spying on us when we wanted some privacy."

"I'm sorry, sir. I should be. What's my punishment this time?"

"You're grounded for the weekend. No dates, no going out," said Daddy.

"Go to bed before I have to give you a spanking, Aimee," said Mum. Then, spanked my ass playfully as I walked away. I rubbed my bottom. In reality, it really felt like she had spanked me hard.

In my room, I was alone. All this bullshit was driving me crazy. Mum having an affair and telling Daddy and her family bullshit lies; Daddy unaware of the affair, Charlie I don't think would understand, and I was mad at her. I was sick of her bullshit! You know what? I'm going to drive her crazy. I'm going to do things that Mum and Daddy would never allow me to do: maybe start drinking, smoking, start doing drugs, get something pierced, a tattoo, fuck Shawn, wear heavy eye makeup, lots of jewelry, dark clothes, get in trouble with the law, tell bullshit lies to them, speak obscenely, including her friends…I really don't give a shit anymore.

I drew Daddy's hands on Mum's wet thighs, caressing and his lips on her scarred knees. I drew his naked body, making every contour as real as I could. His broad shoulders, his smooth chest, his navel, his smooth cock and fuzzy balls with the sparse, masculine hair at his groin, his muscled, smooth buttocks and the hair on his legs and his foot on the floor as he got into the tub. I drew Mum as well: her hand on her breast as she washed it, the contour of her back and buttocks when she let the robe fall and the sides of her breasts when she took her clasp out and her long, sleek legs. I felt my long blonde hair and heard an evil voice, whispering to me to cut it off.

I obeyed.

I got out my knife that I use to sharpen my charcoal pencils and tiptoed towards the upstairs bathroom that Charlie and I use to brush our teeth. I looked through my teen magazines that I left in the bathroom to read and saw a haircut that I liked with really short hair with spiked ends. I took my knife and began cutting off my beautiful long Marcia Brady locks of hair and they fell at my feet in golden swirls. It took me nearly two hours to get the haircut right and I was finished about midnight. I picked up the fallen gold locks and tossed them in the trash and touched my short, spiked hair. I felt so free…

I went from a Marcia Brady to a Kelly Osbourne. But that was just the beginning…


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"You never said that you were perfect

But you always are to me

Lovin' you was always worth it

'Cause you see so much in me."

-Kelly Osbourne, 'More Than Life Itself'

_Shut Up_, 2002

Once I got up for school, I walked down the stairs, dressed in black, pretending nothing was new. Mum looked at me instantly with round eyes when she saw what I had done with my hair.

"Aimee Christine!" she said, in shock. "What have you done to your hair?"

"I cut it," I said.

"But why? You had such nice hair. You looked like Marcia Brady."

"Fuck her, Mum. Marcia Brady I ain't."

"You watch your language, young lady!" she said sternly. "And what's with you wearing black?"

"Nothing special," I said. "I've all of a sudden found a liking for black."

"But you never wear black, Aimee."

"Now I do."

Then, Daddy saw me. His reaction was the same too with my short hair and black clothes. I told him that I didn't care. Charlie liked my new haircut.

At school, people were pointing at me, whispering. What did I care what they said about me? Nothing what they said about me mattered anymore. My nerves were steel, my heart was ice and my soul is a black void of no love or feelings.

At art class, which I have early in the morning, my teacher, Mrs. Green, did give me A's for my drawings, saying they were soulful, real, with expressive eyes, hands and contours of the body. But when I took my sketchbook, I saw that her face was bothered.

"Aimee," she said. "Where did you draw these pictures? From a book?"

"No," I said.

"From a magazine?"

I didn't answer her…tears welled in my eyes and sickness turned in my stomach. I bit them back, wiping my eyes.

"Aimee, are you all right? Is something wrong?"

"No. It's just an allergy."

"Well, I'm very impressed with your work, Aimee. I'd like to see more of these."

I am still mad at Mum. I hated her for everything she did: I hated her for fucking Paul and hated her for hurting Daddy in the tub last night.

"Hey, Aimee," said Stephanie Kirkwood, the snob of our school, flouncing her blonde hair. "Nice haircut? What do you call that? Hillbilly style?"

Her girlfriends laughed. I said nothing; only my anger boiled inside.

"Mind if I see your drawings?"

"Suck my cunt," I said, quietly.

She grabbed my sketchbook and opened it, looking at it.

"Give it back, you bitch!" I said.

She showed it to her cheerleader friends. Soon, their faces smiled and they laughed.

"Who are these people?" said her friend, Tina Spears.

"None of your goddamn fucking business!" I said.

"What are you, a spy?" mocked Brittany Henderson.

"Give it back, Stephanie!" I said.

"You're sick!" said Stephanie. "What do you? Watch people?"

"Fuck you, bitch!" I grabbed my sketchbook away from them and held it tight to my chest. "If you weren't such a cunt, you'd understand. But you are! So, fuck you! In fact, FUCK YOU ALL!" I kicked the chair down and stormed out angrily.

I got a detention for saying obscenities to Stephanie and her bitch friends as well as having a temper tantrum. I didn't care if I got detention; I hate Stephanie and getting in trouble doesn't matter anymore. I decided to go for a drive downtown during my other two free periods because both my parents gave me permission to leave school during my free periods. I drove to SoHo to get some lunch…

"Hi, Aimee," said Bill Stone, my Daddy's co-worker, startling me.

"Oh, hi, Bill," I said.

"Something's different about you. You've cut your hair. It looks nice."

"Thank you," said.

"Well, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

"I am, but this is my free period. I have permission to leave school during my free periods."

"I see. You know, I saw your mother earlier."

"You did? Where?"

"Yea, she was here, kissing some guy…in that restaurant." He pointed to a fancy restaurant from across the street.

"Uh…I'll see you around, Bill." I said.

I ran across the street to where Bill said my Mum was. I ran in and I saw them…my face went white and my blood stopped. My brain literally froze.

"Holy fffffuuuuck!" I said, almost loudly.

"I'm sorry, miss?" said the hostess, shocked when she heard me.

"Nothing," I said. "I'm with that lady over there. I was kind of late, you know."

"All right."

I walked up to have a better look and in my shock, I could see Paul's hand down the back of my Mum's pants, kissing her, his other hand on her breast, pressing it.

"MUM!" I yelled, loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear me. Everyone turned and looked.

They turned and looked at me. Mum's face turned bright red. Paul looked at me up and down with his dark eyes and I only stared back into them, full of rage and hate, wanting to destroy him in the worst ways possible.

"Aimee!" she said, startled. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"I always come to SoHo during my free periods. Remember, Mum or are there no brains in your head? And who this scumbag?"

"Aimee!" Mum said, shocked, hearing my language. To Paul, she said, "I'm so sorry," and to me, she said, "this is a friend of mine, Paul Martel. Paul, this is my daughter, Aimee."

"Hello, Aimee. Nice to meet you," he said in a French accent that stabbed me all over like icy spikes. "Your mother speaks very highly about you." He reached his hand out to shake it, but I only stared at it. He put his hand down.

"I take it you're not really friendly," he said, smiling. "That's all right. We'll get to know each other."

"Yea, nice to meet you too, limp dick," I said in a nasty voice.

"Aimee!" her voice was stern. "That is no way to speak to my friend."

"Sure, he's a great friend," I replied sarcastically. "He sure is a great friend when he's got his hand down your pants and sucking your lips off, Mum…and taking you to his bed to fuck, right?" Everyone was looking at us.

"Aimee Christine! Your behavior is absolutely disgraceful." To Paul, she said, "I'm sorry, she can be rude sometimes."

"No, I don't mind. Come, sit down, Aimee."

I sat down, but I didn't so much look at them, even though they behaved normally in front of me. I hated her and her asshole lover. I looked at my glass of soda that I had and gripped around it, wanting to splash it in his face. Then, I looked at the knife next to my other hand, wanting to take that knife and slash his throat or stab him in the heart. Then, the plate was the next option, wanting to take it and smash his brains in. They acted normal around me like nothing happened. Bullshit like nothing had happened!

I didn't have money to go shopping, Mum did. I smiled when I saw that her purse was hanging from her chair. I could see her wallet peeking out a bit in the folds of the purse. I reached in careful not to disturb anything, placing her wallet on my lap, opening it quietly, pulling her Visa out and slipping it into my pocket. Then, carefully placed her wallet back into the purse…she would never know it was gone.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm late for school. I have to go. Bye! Nice meeting you, Paul. I hope you burn in hell forever."

I got up and left.

"Aimee!" said Mum, but I ignored her. "Where are you going?"

"FUCK YOU!" I yelled back, giving her the finger and didn't look back. I got in my car and sped away, seeing her in the rear view mirror, watching me drive away.

I had her credit card right in my pocket. I went to the piercing and tattoo parlor and got a tattoo of a broken heart on my shoulder, even though I was under age, I convinced them that I was eighteen and they did it anyway. The guy who did my tattoo smoked a cigarette and I asked if he could teach me how to smoke a cigarette. He handed me a cigarette and lit it and told me not to inhale until you got used to it. I tasted my first cigarette and felt the rush of nicotine go from the tip of my tongue to the neurons in my brain. I felt so calm, so relaxed. He gave me four cigarettes to keep since I couldn't buy them.

"Can you pierce my tongue?" I said.

"Sure," he said.

He sat me down on the chair, gave me mouthwash to numb my tongue and told me to stick it out so it would dry out. I watched, with my tongue lolling out, as he slipped latex gloves on his hands, cleaned a huge needle and tongs with alcohol wipes. He took my tongue with the tongs to pull it out, then the needle hovered over the smooth surface of my tongue…I took a deep breath, then the steel went through my tongue! I winced with pain…it hurt, but at the same time, felt good. Then, he stuck the barbell into the hole where he had pierced me.

"Use mouthwash at least twice a day," he said. "If it starts to hurt or looks infected, take it out."

"Sure," I said, tasting blood. I took out a little compact mirror and looked at my tongue ring. It glittered in the neon lights.

"You smoke weed?" he asked.

"No," I said. "Is it any good?"

"Sure," he said. "A dollar a hit?"

I pulled out four from my pocket. "Give me four," I said.

He took the money, handing me the joints that were in a plastic bag. I stuffed them in my pocket. I'd smoke them later.

I bought some heavy eye makeup and nail polish and lipstick. Then, I went to a Gothic store and bought jelly bracelets: black, red, and pink and leather bracelets with spikes and a collar, T-shirts with skulls, skull bracelets and necklaces. I stopped at a convenience store and bought some black hair dye and dyed my short hair in the bathroom. Now I was really a Kelly Osbourne.

It was sunset. I went to the park to smoke my weed. I lit up with the lighter I had gotten from the guy who sold me the weed. I inhaled it, tasting it…it tasted different than cigarettes, almost like hay. The world starts to spin and I see pretty colors swarming in front of my eyes, staring at them with awe. I heard 'Magic Carpet Ride' and 'Don't Step On the Grass Sam' by Steppenwolf in my head and sang loudly along with it, laughing, hearing my terrible singing voice.

Wow!

After getting stoned, I went to my room immediately and slammed the door. Mum wasn't home yet. My guess was she was on the train coming home. My nose felt like it was melting off. I was laughing, then, I started crying…

I hate Mum! I flopped on my bed and I pulled the covers over my head and I cried. I cried 'till my eyes were red and the makeup I had streamed in black rivers. I smelled like wet grass and weed. SHIT! I sprayed perfume all over me to hide the weed smell.

I heard her footsteps coming up the stairs. She knocked on my door and came in.

"Aimee?" she said, her voice was soft but it struck me like a rock in the head.

I ignored her.

"Aimee, I need to talk about your behavior in front of Mr. Martel today…" She saw what I had done. Her face became shocked. "Aimee! What have you done? And what's this, dark eye shadow? Dark nail polish? What!" She saw my black hair. "What? What have you done to your hair?" Then, the shopping bags and saw the things I had bought. "What is all this? Where did you buy it? And your breath, it smells like cigarettes! Have you been smoking?"

"Yes," I said, wiping my black eyes. "So?"

"Aimee! Is there anything else I should be aware of?" she looked at me with her stern eyes. She didn't scare me anymore.

"No," I said, not opening my mouth.

"When your father gets home, you and I and him are going to have a long talk about your behavior, young lady. I don't even know you any more! Why all of a sudden a huge, dramatic change?"

"You're right, Mum! You don't know me!" I said, angrily. "You're too busy fucking that French dick than paying attention to your family."

"What-what do you mean?" she asked, nervously.

"I saw what you were doing in the restaurant, sucking his lips off in public."

"You saw us?"

"Yes, I did. And I know about the affair." In a mocking tone of Mum, I said, " 'Oh, Edward, I'm going to the auction'. Bull-SHIT!" I screamed the last line.

She was silent for a few minutes.

"Honey, I can explain. I love Daddy very much, but…" she said.

"Oh, I see!" I said, sarcastically. "So when you married Daddy, did the words 'to cherish forever, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, from death to us part' meant nothing to you? Perhaps you forgot to read between the lines, Mum and said 'fuck the words 'from death to us part'' and go out like a goddamn fucking floozy and fuck this French fucker, right?"

"Aimee…" her voice was weakening from my angry voice.

"Why do you fuck him? I dunno. What, is his dick is better than Daddy's? Does he fuck you better than Daddy? Does he like taking it up your ass? Does he like your pussy? What? Why don't you tell me why?"

My face was red and my head was under so much pressure that I swear I was going to explode, that's how mad I was at Mum. She didn't speak for a few minutes, shocked that I said this without taking a breath. I was breathing angrily through my flared nostrils.

"I'm telling Daddy what you did," I said, threateningly, hugging my knees.

"Aimee, please…" she began, shaking out of the shock and her eyes glittered desperately. She didn't have to tell me what to do. "You have to understand…"

"I hate you," I whispered, coldly.

Her face turned white, her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened, all in shock. No parent would expect their kid to say 'I hate you' to them, especially to their face. But I didn't care. My heart was an empty, cold void that felt nothing.

"Honey…" she touched me, but I slapped her hand away and turned away from her.

"Don't touch me! I'm never talking to you again, you fucking slut!" I yelled angrily, kicking her away from me.

Her face looked hurt and she walked out, closing my door. Soon as it was dark, I heard her crying in the other room. Her cries pierced me like a knife to my heart and I felt as if the blood was bursting out.

I turned on the radio, and the announcer said:

"…Kelly Osbourne singing 'More than Life Itself' tonight."

The music started, I took out my sketchbook, drew Mum's face when she heard me say those awful things to her. I heard it start to rain outside, hitting the window, Kelly sang: 'When I'm down, you're there to lift me/ you come around/ when I need a friend…'. Mum's cries got louder.

I even pictured her face when she cried, her eyes teary, her face crumpled in a painful expression like her heart was pierced with a thousand swords like the Virgin Mary's when she saw Jesus on the cross, and tears running down her face; The rain patted faster against the window pane, Kelly sang, 'No one loves me like you do/ unconditioned and true/ you're the shoulder that I've always known/ and the hand that says I'm not alone…' My lips curled inward and tightened and my eyes burned as if I were trying to hold back my tears.

I even drew her with her face buried in her hands. When Kelly sang, 'More than life itself/ I love you more than life itself…', my eyes felt wet and a tear fell on Mum's crying face, distorting the pencil shading and absorbing through the paper.

My body shook when Kelly sang the bridge and chorus and I dropped my pencil. More tears fell when I heard Kelly sang: 'I love you/I love you/I love you and I don't care if sounds stride/ I'll say it over and over again…' Now, I was crying too. Kelly repeated the chorus, then sang, 'More than you know, more than you know…" then ended with: 'I love you more than life itself…'

That's when I was sobbing in my pillow, feeling numb…

Getting out of bed, once the house was quiet, creeping into the bathroom once again. The pain was getting too strong. Once again, I locked the door, took out the scissors and the washcloth, looking at the old cuts I had done…then, I cut them open again. Pain. Oh pain! I felt the release, whining. The blood came out like thin, black red line…I pressed the washcloth to my wrist, applying pressure…


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Just don't know why

Suicide appeals to me…"

-Alice Cooper, 'The Quiet Room'

_From the Inside_, 1978

Once again, my sweatshirt was stained with blood; only the drops were a bit bigger than the last. I just hid my scars underneath my wristband.

I had a great urge to kill myself when I heard her cry in the last night. Perhaps I'll do it sometime. I couldn't bear to look at Mum's face after what I said to her. I did look at her from the corner of my eye. Her face looked hurt when she looked at me.

"Good morning, Mom," Charlie said.

"Good morning, Charlie," she said; her voice was quaking with sadness.

When in the car, tears fell from my eyes; my eye makeup streamed down my face.

"Aimee," said Charlie. "Did you dye your hair?"

"Yea," I said, my voice quaking.

"What's wrong, Aimee? Are you crying?"

"I just had a bad day, yesterday," I said.

"Don't be sad, Aimee. I love you."

"Aw, you're so sweet." I ruffled his fuzzy hair.

"What happened? Did Shawn break up with you?"

"No…it's nothing. I'll tell you later, squirt."

At school, I sat outside on the picnic table, waiting for Shawn, dressed in black, heavy eye makeup and lipstick. I couldn't touch my lunch that Mum made me. Carrots and celery, peanut butter and jelly sandwich on white bread cut in triangularly and a juice box. I buried my head on the table and wanted to cry like a baby. Shawn sat next to me after getting his lunch.

"Wow!" said Shawn, seeing my change. "You've changed."

"You don't like it?"

"It's alright," he said. "Not your style, but it's different."

"Thanks," I said. "I got a tattoo and my tongue pierced." I pulled my shirt down and showed him the broken heart and stuck my tongue out and showed him. "I learned how to smoke cigarettes from some guy at the tattoo parlor."

I was trembling and biting back my tears.

"You OK?" he said.

"I'm fine," I said. "I can't eat."

"I know you think you are, but you're really not."

I felt my tears hurting my eyes. "I had a fight with Mum."

"Oh boy!" he said. "What happened?"

I couldn't lie to Shawn anymore…I spilled my guts, practically sobbing…

"I caught her with Mr. Martel in Café Noir, kissing him and he had his hand in her pants…"

"Really!" said Shawn shocked and disgusted. "Your mom with Mr. Martel!"

"So, I got pissed off and I tried to ruin their lunch, not very successful because he thought I was funny. Stupid fucking asshole."

"So then what?"

"When I left, I told her 'fuck you' and gave her the finger. Then, I went out to change my entire look to piss her off. When she came home, I acted like a total bitch and treated her like shit. I said horrible things to her."

"Like what kind of horrible things?"

"I called her a 'goddamn floozy' and insulted her by asking that if Paul Martel's dick was better than Daddy's and if he fucked better than Daddy. Then, I said 'I hate you', told her to go away and that I would never talk to her again…to make matters worse, I called her a 'fucking slut' and slapped her away and kicked her when she tried to touch me."

"Ouch! That's really harsh and cold," said Shawn, making a painful expression.

"Now I wish I hadn't said it. I've never seen Mum so hurt in my life. I mean, I've loved her since forever and now I've treated her like shit. I'm a stupid, mean bitch."

"Don't say that. You're definitely not a bitch and you're not stupid or mean."

"What am I going to do?"

"You could talk to her."

"I can't! If I did, it would hurt me to see her face."

"Maybe you could write her a poem or draw her a picture. Leave it on her bed or something."

"I could do that…" I sighed. "I heard Kelly Osbourne singing 'More than Life Itself' on the night we fought on the radio and I practically cried my eyes out."

"You could do that too. Play her a song about how much you love her."

I did feel better, but I still felt hurt. I couldn't face my mother again. She hurt me and I hurt her. Two wrongs don't make a right as they all say. During English class, I worked on a poem for Mum. It's so hard to write a poem because I was never a good poet. But, I recalled everything she did for me and I wrote it:

Mum

Your womb housed me and kept me warm

You birthed me

Your breasts fed me

Your milk nourished me

Your warmth comforted me

Your touch soothed me

Your laugh made me happy

Your words helped and hurt me

You let me cry on your shoulder when I needed it

You bathe me in hugs

And shower me in kisses

You love me more than life itself

We laughed and went places together

We cried, we screamed, we fought

We had our good times and bad

But I still love you

No matter what

'Cause no one loves me like you do

Unconditional and true

You're the shoulder I've always known

And the hand that says I'm not alone

Mum, I love you

More than life itself

"Miss Sumner!" said my teacher, Mr. Bates; he was angry. "Since you're too busy not writing and not paying attention, perhaps you'd like to read what you're writing out loud."

"Yes, sir, I would," I said.

"Stand up in front of the class and read it."

I got up; my body trembling and tears pricked my eyes. I couldn't bear to read it out loud. But, I wanted everyone to know that I hurt Mum and that I wrote the poem for one reason was to tell her how much I loved her.

"Well, get on with it, Aimee," said Mr. Bates.

"I'm sorry, sir." I cleared my throat, and said, my voice quivering. "I wrote this poem because I hurt my Mum last night and it's also to tell her how much I love her."

I read the whole poem; my body trembling, my eyes streaming with tears, making my eyes black with eye shadow and mascara, and my voice quivered. After that, everyone stood up and clapped. Mr. Bates was white with shock that everyone liked it.

After English was my free periods, I got in my car and drove to SoHo to Café Noir to grab a coffee. Since I had all these free periods, I would get my belly button pierced and my ears all the way up to the cartilage.

"Mocha cappuccino," I said to the employee, depressed. "Fais-le un double."

I have never felt so depressed in my life that I needed to be stimulated, too depressed to talk to anyone but my sketchbook. I took a cigarette out of my purse, lit it, placed it between my red lips, inhaled a small drag and exhaled a stream of smoke.

"Ça va?" asked the French bartender.

"Non," I said. "Je suis déprimée. Laissez-moi seul, s'il vous plait. (I'm depressed. Please leave me alone.)"

"Le jour est mal aujourd'hui? (Bad day, today?)"

"Oui," I said.

"Désolé. (Sorry)."

I took out my sketchbook and drew Mum and Paul in the café, his hand down her pants and the other on her breast, and his mouth on hers. I did close ups of his hand down her pants and his hand on her breast. Soon as my cappuccino arrived, it was still hot and it burnt my tongue. I could feel the caffeine flow through my blood to my brain, telling it to wake the fuck up Aimee. I continued to smoke my cigarette.

I was so angry at Paul and Mum. I wished he would die. I drew horrific, graphic drawings of me murdering Paul in every way possible, using my pencil to make the blood rich in detail…it looked like a graphic Japanese horror comic.

"Hey," said that horrible French accent behind me. It was Paul.

I didn't answer him. I slammed it shut so he couldn't see my drawing of him and Mum, plus my drawings of me killing him.

"You look depressed, Aimee," he said; his voice stung me like a snake's venom.

I ignored him.

"Wow!" he said, looking at me. "You've changed since the last time I saw you."

I ignored him, inhaled my cigarette and exhaled a stream of smoke.

"I see you're smoking," he said.

I kept ignoring him and he took out his cigarette and lit it to smoke it.

"What's the problem, Aimee?"

That's what set me off.

"YOU are my problem," I replied, angrily. "Now, go fuck yourself!" I put out my cigarette in the ashtray angrily.

"I'm sorry you don't like me…but tell me what is bothering you."

"None of your goddamn fucking business! Now, fuck off, you bullocks and leave me alone."

"It's not good to be alone. In fact, it's dangerous to be alone. Anything could happen to a beautiful lady like you."

That's when I felt a voice inside scream. I felt his hand move to the bare spot of my thigh, moving towards the hem of my short vinyl skirt; his hand felt like a deadly snake slithering on my bare skin. I froze completely; my blood went from hot to boiling and my cheeks went red with anger, hate, and disgust. I grabbed my cappuccino and threw it in his face, the light brown wave splashed, soaking his face, hair, his sweater and his jeans. He closed his eyes, looking calm and I could see red spots appear on his face. Then wiped the coffee from his eyes and I watched as the coffee dripped from his eyelashes and his hair.

"Don't ever touch me again, you fucking pervert!" I yelled angrily. "You keep your eyes, mouth, hands, and dick to yourself and away from me and my mother, you fuck!"

I walked out, throwing my leather jacket over my shoulders. People looked at me, watching me leave the café and the pervert behind. I don't care what they think of me. If he touches me again, I will literally kill him.

"Aimee!" he yelled. He ran out of the café after me.

"Fuck off!" I yelled back, giving him the finger.

This time, he caught up to me and grabbed my arm. It was a tight iron grip and I fought as best as I could, screamed my bloody head off. He dragged me to the alley, roughly while I fought off, my black hair blinding me and delivering blows and scratches. He slammed me against the wall, pressing my face against the bricks and his hand on my mouth, silencing me.

"That was a very stupid thing to do, Aimee Christine," he said. There was a wild look in his eye and it was that look that I didn't like at all.

"Fuck you!" I yelled through his hand, muffling my mouth.

"Gladly," he said.

I felt him put his hand up my skirt, pushing the crotch of my panties aside. I whimpered as he went further to the sensitive folds; his thick, horrible fingers probing. Then he pressed me against the wall, pushed my skirt up and yanked panties to my thighs and I heard him unbuckle his belt and his erection pressed into my ass crack. I cried, so frightened like a child and felt cornered like an animal and screamed muffled screams. He began nipping my ear and seizing my hair in a handful, pulling it with a death grip; I could smell his horrible cigarette breath and the cappuccino I had splashed on him.

"I've always wanted to fuck a girl like you," he said in my ear.

I struggled, clawing his arm with my fingernails until my mouth was free from his hand and with all my anger and hate, I sank my teeth into his strong, muscled arm that held me and tasted blood. He let out a loud cry, releasing me and I ran from him, my panties at my thighs, nearly tripping over myself and crying. I ran to my car, unlocking it, my hands trembling. I got into my car and peeled out, in the rear-view mirror, I saw him buckling his belt and zipping up his pants, watching me drive away, looking calm. He waved to me.

I couldn't go home…after that horrible day. I drove to the tattoo parlor and let the guy pierce my navel and my ears. They stung a bit, but it didn't bother me. I was numb to pain. He gave me more weed and I stuffed it in my padded bra.

I drove to Shawn's house and asked to stay overnight.

"Sure," said Mrs. Harrison.

I called Daddy at work, trying not to cry, telling I'd be at Shawn's house because I fought with Mum and I couldn't bear to face her. After talking to Daddy, Shawn came to me.

"I'm so glad you're staying overnight," he said.

"Shawn, can I talk to you in your room?"

"Sure."

I lied on the bed and I started to cry.

"I had the most horrible day," I wept, burying my face into his warm, muscled shoulder.

"What happened?" he said, his voice comforting me.

"You know Mr. Martel," I said. "I met him today at Café Noir and he was hitting on me and he tried to feel me up."

"Jesus!" he said, disgusted. "Fucking scumbag!"

"So, I threw my cappuccino in his face and told him to stay away from me and Mum. Then, when I left, he chased me and hurt me. Then, that's when he unzipped his pants and tried to…"

"What!" Shawn was shocked.

"But I got away, I bit him and ran. Jesus! Hold me, Shawn!"

Shawn held me and shushed me with his warmth. Then, I kissed him and he kissed back. He kissed my tears, lapping them up with his tongue, tasting their saltiness. He ran his hand through my hair to stroke it and then nuzzled it, inhaling it. My cheeks turned pink when he nuzzled and his hands caressed my throat and the column of my neck.

"I have some weed," I admitted.

"Oh?" he said. "Where'd you get it?"

"The guy down at the tattoo parlor."

"I haven't smoked that shit since middle school."

"Let's go somewhere else," I said. "Your Mum might get suspicious."

Shawn told his Mum that we'd be out. We got into his car and parked on an empty street, went to the park, parking in the dark, secluded parking lot and smoked the weed, tasting the sweet sedating chemicals, calming my nerves. The colors I saw fascinated me.

"Shawn," I laughed. "I see colors!"

"I see nipples," he laughed.

Suddenly, I went into the back seat with Shawn and pulled him into the back, wrapping my legs around his waist, kissing him.

"Make love to me, Shawn!" I begged him, unzipping his jeans.

"I will," he said, unzipping my shirt and unsnapping my bra, tossing it aside.

We sat in the back seat and he caressed my body; his hands felt feather light on my skin, sending chills up my spine. He kissed my neck and cupped my breasts, thumbing the nipples with care while my hands slipped up his shirt, pressing the palms of my hands into his chest, feeling the hard muscles. I peeled it off slowly, pulling it over his head. When he returned to my mouth, I felt the tip of his tongue dart inside mine, playing with my tongue ring and I caressed it back with my own; our tongues went into an erotic, wet dance.

He kissed my neck, moving to my ears, licking the rings in my ears, making it tickle. Now, he went to my breasts, kissing them. Then, he tongued the engorged pink flesh of my nipples, giving me goose bumps. Then, drew one into his mouth and sucked it.

Now, I shoved his jeans and boxer shorts off and he pulled off my panties, pushing my skirt up to my waist. I sat him up and looked at his erect penis in the dark and smiled. I began to kiss and lick his male chest, moving slowly down to his abdomen; soft dustings of hair trailed from his navel to his groin. I lowered my head and licked his length with my tongue; there was moisture forming at the tip. I caught the tear at the tip of my tongue and tasted it: it was salty sweet.

"You taste so good," I whispered.

Then, I slipped my lips and mouth over him and suckled slowly. He was growling like an animal, arching his back. He felt so hot, so hard, and so smooth on my tongue that I just couldn't get enough.

After I gave him a blowjob, he laid me on my back on the seat, spread my thighs, kissing slowly down my belly, pausing to play with my navel ring before lowering his head between my thighs. I felt him sample me with his tongue.

"You taste good, Aimee," he whispered.

He began to lick my folds, twirl my rosebud, and nip the outer lips. He drew me into his mouth and sucked and I screamed loudly, not caring who heard me. He even tortured my rosebud with his suckling and I screamed even louder, sobbing and laughing at the same time.

Once he was done, he slipped his fingers into my heat. Oh! It was a feeling I have never felt before! I cried out his name. Then, I pulled out a condom out from my wallet from my purse.

"I'm a safe girl," I said, tearing the top off.

"Yea," he said, smiling. "Better safe than sorry."

I found his erect penis with my hand and caressed it gently, feeling the silky smooth skin and he sighed. Once at his balls, I was careful with them, caressing the fuzz with my fingernails and touched the soft, sensitive skin gently with my fingertips; he liked that. Then, I sheathed him with the condom, sat on his lap, his hot hardness sank into my soft wet warmth and his hands on my bare bottom, thrusting hard while I rocked my hips and I screamed loudly…

"Jesus! Jesus! Oh God! Yes!"

Our mouths frantic with kisses, moans and my screams, sweat on our bodies, the smell of female musk, semen, sweat, and weed in the car, the seat creaking as we bounced from lovemaking, my fingernails dug into his shoulders while his squeezed my bottom, forcing me closer. My female muscles contracting and our heat combining that I felt like I was on fire.

Soon, in the middle of our lovemaking, there was a knock on the window. I covered myself up and Shawn rolled down the window and it was a cop!

"Excuse me," said the cop. "Neighbors just called and…" he smelled the car. "Son, miss, I'm going to ask you to step out of the car."

The police officer brought me home. I was ready to face my punishment. I didn't care anymore if I were punished. Mum and Daddy answered the door in their pajamas.

"Officer…" said Mum. "Aimee! What's going on? What did you do?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Sumner," said the officer. "We got a complaint from one of the neighbors at the park about some noise. We responded and we found your daughter with her boyfriend in the backseat of his car having sex…"

"What!" said Mum. "Having sex? At sixteen? Aimee, are you out of your mind?"

I didn't answer; the weed had made me sick. I moaned sickly, clutching my stomach.

"Not only that, but they were smoking weed. We tested their urine and found it positive for marijuana."

"Aimee Christine Sumner!" said Mum, angrily. "I can't believe you! Smoking weed, having sex already, dressing Gothic…I'm very disappointed in you."

"When we took them to the station, ma'am," said the officer. "Poor Aimee got sick. We brought her boyfriend home. He said he doesn't know where he got the weed. We're not too sure. We're going to have a drug watch on the school grounds starting tomorrow. But, we decided to let the kids go since it was their first time. But we warned them that we won't be too easy on them next time."

I ran to the edge of the porch and threw up. I moaned sickly as my stomach hurt and I was covered in a fresh sweat.

"Aimee," said Mum. "Your father and I are going to have a long talk with you."

"Fine," I said.

We sat in the living room and Mum and Dad looked angry.

"I just can't believe you had sex with Shawn at sixteen. You two are too young," said Mum. "And smoking weed? I never knew you would do such a thing and being brought home by the police."

"Yes, Aimee," said Daddy. "We're surprised that you would do such a thing. We just don't understand why."

I just stared at them blankly, stoned completely out of my mind, my eyes glazed over into a daze.

"All right," said Mum. "Enough is enough. You're fighting at school, you're slacking on your homework, and things are getting out of control. From this moment, you are officially grounded."

"You know what, Mum?" I said, sickly. "I really don't give a fuck if you ground me anymore. Because your words mean nothing to me."

"Don't speak to me like that," she said. "I'm your mother and you treat me with respect."

"Bullshit!" I said. "I'll never treat you with respect. Never! And nothing you say or do will change me."

"Watch your language, Aimee Christine! That's unacceptable! Now, go to your room, Aimee," said Mum.

"Go to hell!" I yelled, walking up the stairs. "I'm really disappointed in you!"

I stomped up the stairs.

"And stop stomping!" she said. "You'll wake your brother up!"

I ignored her and waited until she was in the living room. I heard them talking in the living room while I sat at the top of the stairs.

"I don't understand, Connie," said Daddy. "You and Aimee never had disagreements. Why all of a sudden change?"

"I don't know, Edward," she said. Of course, she's guilty and hiding something.

"I mean, she's using obscene language, dressing dark, having sex at a young age and smoking weed. She even started smoking."

"What do you think is going on?"

"I don't know." She began to sob. "She told me to go to hell, Ed. She hurt me yesterday. She called me a 'slut'."

"A slut? Why? What did you do?"

"I don't know why," she sobbed. "I just don't understand what is going on with my daughter. She's changed…"

It was a Saturday. Perhaps I'll kill myself today: after fighting with Mum, and Paul trying to rape me made me miserable, getting caught having sex with Shawn and smoking weed. Making love to Shawn would be my goodbye present to him.

Daddy asked Mum if she wanted to go to lunch with him at noon. I overheard her say that she had a facial appointment at Georgiana's at 12:30. I knew it was bullshit. I waited until they were both gone, leaving Charlie with Gloria. I went to follow her, maybe I could stop her…I parked at the curb where it said 'no parking', ignoring it. My plan was to find out where she meets him, just watching… That's when I saw Mum, near Paul's apartment building, dressed in a black calico dress; I could see her figure clearly underneath her dress: she was naked underneath her dress: no bra or panties.

Slut!

I had to park in the parking lot or else I would get a ticket. That's when it all went downhill…

"Come on, baby!" I begged it, turning the key in the ignition; the engine only coughed and choked. "Please, baby! Don't die on me!" My car would still not start and it died right there.

"FUCK!" I yelled loudly, pounding my fists on the steering wheel. "God, Is this punishment for fucking Shawn when not legally married!" I cried. "Why don't you punish Mum, God? Why me? I didn't cheat on my husband like she did!"

Of course, I had to get out of my car and have to find a way to call a tow truck to take it home for me. Being stupid, I had no cell phone or any money to use the pay phone. Mum always had her cell phone on her, perhaps I could borrow it and call the tow truck and have him take it away.

Then, I saw Mum stop to talk to her friends: Tracy and Sally. They turned to go into Café Noir. I could see Mum's face was still sad after our fight. They went into the café…I had my vision. She was talking on the phone at the bar. I knew to whom she was talking to…but I had to think about it. My car is dead and I need to get home. OK…I'll ask to use her phone and beat it.

I went to unbuckle my seatbelt and that's when I saw Paul walk out of his apartment building…I couldn't let him see me, so I ducked down, hoping he didn't look. As soon as he went inside, I got out of the car and went inside, seeing Tracy and Sally, talking over some coffee. I lit a cigarette and held it between my fingers while I looked for Mum. She wasn't with Tracy or Sally nor was she at the phone.

"Aimee?" said Tracy. "Is that you?"

"Hi, Tracy," I said, exhaling a stream of smoke.

"How are you? My! You've changed so much." I could tell her face turned into a look of shock when she saw my new style: vinyl short skirt, fishnet stockings, industrial zippers, big boots, my eyes black with eyeliner and heavy black eye makeup, my lips with black lipstick, my ears with octave surgical steel earrings, my wrists covered with black jelly bracelets, and rings on my fingers. But I didn't care.

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Last time I saw you, you were a little girl."

"Um…listen, have you seen my Mum? I need to speak with her."

"Yes, Aimee. She just left to go to the bathroom," said Sally.

"Thanks." I inhaled my cigarette and exhaled a stream of smoke.

I went to the bathroom and looked for her and to my horror; there she was in the women's room, slammed against the wall of the stall, her head thrown back and gasping. I closed the door quietly and tiptoed to the stall she was in and saw Paul there, his pants undone and nestled between her legs, his mouth on her bare breast, suckling it. I saw him slamming her against the wall; her skirt hitched up to her waist and her bottom was bare and red and her legs wrapped around his waist. I felt my blood turn cold with shock and my stomach sick.

I couldn't watch anymore, I felt sick and angry. Now I really hated her! I ran out, trying not to cry. They heard the slam of the door as I ran out.

"Did you find her, Aimee?" Tracy asked.

"No," I lied. "If you'll excuse me, I have to call the tow truck to tow my car home."

"Aimee," said Tracy. "I can lend you my cell phone if you want."

"Thanks, but no. I'll use the restaurant phone.

"Are you all right?" asked Sally. "Is something wrong? You seem upset."

"I'm fine. I have lots to do and I'm tired, you know, same old bullshit, different day." I was near the point of breaking down somewhere between a baby and an insane woman. But I bit back my tears and smiled a fake smile like nothing was wrong.

"Have any plans for the future?" asked Sally.

I think I'm going to embarrass Mum by saying untrue things about my plans. "Oh…maybe a garbage woman, a hooker…" I said. The two women looked at each other. "A criminal, a tattoo artist. I don't really know."

"I thought you wanted to be an artist, Aimee, going to NYU. What happened to those plans?" asked Sally. Both of them looked concerned. "Your mother told us that's what you wanted to do."

"She told you that?" I said, feigning surprise. "Well, don't listen to that fucking lying slut. I changed my mind." I smiled when I said this, still trying to hold back my breakdown; they looked shocked. "Oh! I'm sorry! Did I say that out loud? Oops! My bad. And if you happen to come across her, tell her I'm not here. You ladies have a lovely fucking day."

They looked at me shocked, speechless about my new behavior and what I had said. What did I care? They wouldn't understand…

I sat at the bar, and used the phone and called the tow truck to take my car to the shop. I'd take a taxi home after I had some coffee and a cigarette to calm my nerves. Slowly I was falling apart, my life was eroding beneath me, and my sanity was as thick as a string.

I heard Mum's footsteps and saw that the top button of her dress was undone and her face was flushed. I felt a surge of hate inside.

"Everything all right?" said Tracy.

"Yea," said Mum. "Just needed to freshen up."

"Bullshit!" I whispered, smoking my cigarette and drinking my latte.

Then, Paul came out of the bathroom, looking at my Mum, lighting a cigarette.

"Hey," said Tracy. "There's that guy again that walked in here. Thought he stole you away."

Mum laughed nervously. I was glaring at her, my head down so they couldn't see me.

"You know, Connie, your daughter, Aimee, was just in here not a few minutes ago."

"Really?"

"Yes. She was looking for you before. Didn't say why and I didn't ask. Then, she came back out of the bathroom. She looked like she was going to break down."

"Break down? Why would she do that?"

"I don't know, Connie. Also, she's changed a lot. She came in here, smoking a cigarette. She's wearing black and has heavy eye make up on and dyed black hair. She's gone from a Marcia Brady to the Devil's child.

"Is she getting involved with something?" asked Sally. "You know, hanging out with the wrong people?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"I also asked her what she wanted to do in the future," said Sally. "And she said: 'Oh, maybe a garbage woman, a hooker, or a criminal. I don't know.'"

"We're shocked, Connie," said Tracy. "Your daughter has changed too drastically. We wanted to ask why, but we thought it was best to mind our business."

"We had a fight," said Connie. "She was brought home by the police. She was smoking weed and having sex with her boyfriend."

"Oh my God! I can't believe that! She's only sixteen and she's having sex already?" said Tracy. "That's not like Aimee."

"I know."

"Do you think she suspects something about you or your husband that's causing her to change so dramatically?" said Sally.

Mum shrugged her shoulders. "Bullshit!" I whispered again.

"When we told her plans for the future that you told us, she said 'don't listen to that fucking lying slut.'"

I could see Mum's face turn white when she heard what I had said to them. I smiled.

"She said that about me?"

"Those were her exact words. She didn't show any shame whatsoever when she said it. Why would she say something so nasty like that about you?"

"I don't know…" she said. "But I'm going to have a long talk with her once I get home. Is she still here?"

"No," said Sally. "She told us to tell her she was never here. She walked out…" Then, she saw me, drinking coffee and was about to say, "Wait, there she is…"

That's when I got up and ran out, running far from the Café Noir so no one would see me and took a taxi home. I laid down in the back seat and broke down, crying hysterically, pounding my fists on the seat.

"You all right, miss?" asked Mac, the taxi driver. "Do you need fresh air?"

"No! Just take me home, please!" I sobbed.

"Thanks, Mac," I said, paying him.

I felt so sick that I had to throw up again. I threw up six times, seeing those horrible images. I had my vision of Mum with Tracy, telling her that she once cheated on her husband years ago and that all affairs end disastrously and it would be the only thing she wished she could undo. I saw Mum's face, white like chalk. She knew she had to end the affair because I already knew, Bill Stone at Daddy's work knew, Shawn knew…pretty soon, Daddy would find out.

Perhaps I would kill myself because nothing but hate, anger, and depression was inside and suicide was the only thing on my mind.

I had a vision again. I saw Mum trying to convince Paul that they could end their affair, but I couldn't hear their voices. But Paul ignored her and kept undressing Mum, pulling off her dress and unhooking her bra, not at all resisting. Then, put his filthy hands on her breasts to cup them and nuzzled her hair and kissed her neck. It all made me sick again. I couldn't stand it anymore! Before I would die, I drew Mum and Paul having a quickie in the bathroom, his mouth on her breast and her bottom slamming against the wall of the wall, then, Paul undressing Mum and cupping her breasts with his hands, his face nuzzling her hair and kissing her neck.

I grabbed my sketchbook, sobbing. I looked in the mirror at my messy eyes full of tears. I took out the scissors, removed my wristband, cut the healing wounds again…I was bleeding…

"Aimee?" Charlie interrupted my mission.

"What, Charlie?" I said.

"I'm hungry. Will you make me lunch?"

I sighed.

"Just a minute!" I yelled. I pressed the washcloth onto my wounds, applying pressure so it would heal faster.

"AEMEEE!" he screamed. "I'm HUNGRY!"

I frantically pulled my wristband over my wounds, hiding the scissors and my washcloth.

I made Charlie spaghetti and he saw that I was crying.

"What's wrong, Aimee?" he said.

"I…" I said, sobbing. "I just had a horrible day. My car died today."

"Wow. That sucks."

I laughed. "Yea."

"Are you still gonna drive me to school?"

"I can't, Charlie. My car is dead and it needs to be fixed."

"So, who's gonna drive us?"

"Probably Mum or Dad."

I found the poem I had written to Mum in my other denim jacket pocket, folded neatly. I crumpled the paper and threw it in the trash.

Now, I had a vision of Daddy, he was talking to his coworker, Bill Stone. As Bill walked away, he yelled something at him silently.

Soon, I saw Daddy sitting on the bench with some old guy in a long trench coat. His lips moved, saying he wanted Frank, I think it was his name, to follow Mum, to find out what she's doing. He told Frank that Mum and I weren't getting along lately and how I've changed dramatically and all this didn't make any sense. I knew Daddy would find out soon.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Slaps you once in a while

and you live and love in pain…

She cries alone at night too often…

Only women bleed…"

-Alice Cooper, Only Women Bleed

_Welcome to my Nightmare_ (1975)

"No use crying

'Cause you can't go back

Now you're here to stay…

You can't run,

You can't hide

You can't tell me what I feel inside…"

-Ozzy Osbourne, Mr. Tinkertrain,

No More Tears (1991)

"I can't hurt myself,  
I can't get my wrists to bleed

Just don't know why

Suicide appeals to me…"

-Alice Cooper, The Quiet Room

_From the Inside_ (1978)

Mum was cooking dinner: chicken, boiled potatoes, boiled string beans and carrots and peas. She kept forgetting that they were on the stove and Charlie had to remind her: "Mom, the chicken's burning!"

"Thank you, Charlie," she said, turning off the stove where the burning chicken was.

"The water's boiling, Mom!" he said. "It's boiling!"

"Thank you," she said, running to it.

I just sat there, sketching my face in a little compact mirror: my pale skin, my black dyed hair, my octave surgical steel rings in my ears, my black eyes and lips. I drew all the different ways I would kill myself: slicing my throat or my wrist with a razor, popping pills in my mouth…making the blood dark with my pencil, making it look like a horrifically gory Japanese anime comic book.

"Aimee," said Mum. "Would you set the table?"

"I'm busy," I said, bluntly.

"Aimee, drop whatever you're doing and set the table."

I did. I stared at her coldly.

Later at dinner, it was spaghetti with sauce, chicken and boiled string beans. The chicken was dry.

"I know it's dry," said Mum. "I'm sorry."

I couldn't look at Mum. I was so hurt and angry at her. I picked at my dinner, thinking about killing myself. Perhaps I'll do it later.

"Aimee," said Daddy. "You're picking at your dinner. Something wrong?"

"No," I said, bluntly.

"I've noticed that you and your mother haven't spoken to each other."

"So?"

"Well, that's not like you two. You used to be best friends."

"Not anymore."

"So, is something is bothering either of you? Did you guys get into a fight?"

"Perhaps," I said. I didn't look at her.

"Tracy told me she saw you today at Café Noir," said Mum. "She told me that you told her some interesting things, like becoming a hooker or something…"

"She's a whore, anyway," I said, bluntly.

She gave me a sharp look. But her angry, stern looks meant nothing to me. I was not afraid of her anymore.

"She said that you called me…what was it? Oh, yea, 'a lying fucking slut', is that right?"

I was quiet for a while.

"You said that in front of your mother's friends?" said Daddy. "Why would you do that?"

I said nothing. They looked at me like I was a guilty defendant taking the stand. The pressure built up inside, but I would never tell them. Never.

"Do you want to know why I slept with Shawn?" I said, changing the subject.

Mum and Daddy looked at me, their eyes wide.

"Why?" Daddy asked.

"Homer, the poet, in his book 'The Iliad', says that 'revenge is sweeter than flowing honey'. And I totally agree with that."

"Why?" Daddy asked.

"Because she said that I was a little kid and I wanted to prove to her that I was not," I lied. "So, I slept with him."

They looked at each other.

"But, you don't have to worry, I used a condom."

"Mom, what's a condom?" asked Charlie.

"Never mind," said Mum. "And mind you, young lady, you're still grounded."

"It doesn't matter. I haven't got a car to go anywhere anyway. My car died and you weren't there so I could call a tow truck."

"Your car died?"

"Yea. And I wanted to use your cell phone, but I couldn't find you. So, I had to look like a total loser and use the phone at Café Noir."

Mum and Daddy were quiet, looking at me like a guilty defendant at the stand, taking my own defense.

"I'm…I'm sorry, I didn't…"

"Save your apologies," I said. "I don't want to hear them."

Mum went white again. She had a look as if she had a cold slap in the face. She remained quiet for a while.

"I fired Bill Stone today," Daddy announced.

"Why?" I asked.

"He's not accountable."

"What's accountable?" asked Charlie. "Is that a person that eats a person?"

"That's a cannibal, stupid!" I said, rolling my eyes.

"Aimee,leave your brother alone," said Mum, sternly. I only gave her a dirty look.

"I can't trust him anymore." Daddy's face looked like he really didn't want to fire Bill.

"You didn't want to fire him, didn't you, Daddy?" I said.

Daddy looked at me. "No, I didn't, sweetheart." He was quiet for a few minutes.

"I have to go to Chicago in the morning," Daddy announced.

"Oh!" said Mum, raising her eyebrows. "For how long?"

"Only a night. I'll be back in the morning."

"What time is your flight?"

"Eight."

It was quiet again.

"I got a call from your principal, Aimee," Mum said. "He said that so far you've received four detentions this semester for using obscene language and having anger lash outs. He said you kicked a chair at Stephanie Kirkwood last week."

"So what? She thinks everything revolves around her, that bitch."

"Aimee, don't use that language at the table."

I was quiet, refusing to look at Mum.

"Aimee, I think you're going to have to see a therapist," said Mum.

"A therapist!" I yelled. "What the hell for?"

"You are acting strange, you're misbehaving at school, you've changed from a nice girl to a bad girl. You're getting involved with sex and drugs. I just don't understand what's going on with you. I can't even sleep at night, not knowing what you're doing."

"Fine!" I yelled, pounding the table; the glasses and silverware shook. "Send me to a fucking therapist! I don't care! Maybe I'll get a 72-hour lock down in the mad house!"  
I got up and stormed away from the table.

"Get down here, Aimee Christine," her voice was indeed angry, but I was angrier. "Your father and I are not done talking to you."

I ignored her. "SHUT UP, YOU FUCKING SLUT!" I yelled down the stairs.

I couldn't take it anymore. I was so miserable. Mum was having an affair and it was all her fault that our family was falling apart. She was driving me crazy with her stupid, fucking affair. Perhaps I will kill myself…I ran into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet in Mum's bathroom and found Mum's prescription sleeping pills. I read the warning label: TAKE ONCE A DAY AT NIGHT. SIDE EFFECTS ARE DIZZINESS, DROWSINESS, DRY MOUTH, AND NAUSEA. INGEST WITH FOOD OR BEVERAGE, DO NOT INGEST WITH ALCOHOL. KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN.

Of course I doubt I could get a hold of alcohol; that would make my death quicker. But, I could just take it the slower way by taking lethal amounts. I opened the pills and popped two in my mouth, swallowing it. It tasted metallic on my tongue. I began to feel the side effects immediately. The whole room spun, my stomach turned with nausea, and I felt sleepy. I looked at the bottle and it said 25 milligrams! 25! That was too strong for a kid like me! No wonder I felt sick.

I popped another two in my mouth and swallowed her bitter pills. Now, the room spun faster and everything seemed to get darker and I felt more sleepy and sicker. I closed the prescription bottle and put it back on the shelf where I found it and I felt the poison seep into my veins. I had probably taken four pills, so that was about 100 milligrams. I'd probably be sick or dead by tomorrow. The last thing I saw was black…

I had the strangest dreams…only I actually felt I was there. I felt like I was living in a real live hallucination. I saw my own wake: Mum, Daddy, and Charlie were gathered around my coffin, weeping. I saw Mum's crumpled face, eyes red with tears, weeping miserably in Daddy's shoulder and Daddy, comforting her and Charlie had a tear in his eyes, but he looked like he was in a catatonic state, his face white and blank, staring at me in my coffin, wondering what happened to me. But, I was standing right behind them.

"Mum! Daddy! Charlie!" I called. "I'm here. I'm not dead!"

They didn't hear me. I saw myself, lying in a perfect state in my coffin. I was wearing a black velvet dress, my hair spread neatly on the pillow, my hands folded, pale and my eyes closed. There were photographs and flowers inside my coffin. I even saw Shawn, next to Charlie. He was sobbing, asking himself:

"Why, Aimee? Why did you do such a thing?" He touched my hair, but I only lay there, stiff and cold.

Soon, my coffin was driven to the graveyard and Mum, Daddy, Charlie, and Shawn all said goodbye and left me all alone to be buried in a box, six-feet under. Now, I felt the world was spinning a hundred miles per hour and I felt like I was falling down a hole of some sort, like Alice in Wonderland down the rabbit hole. It got hotter and darker as I got deeper down the hole. Once I stopped, I was just in the dark, all alone, sweating.

"Aimee?" said a voice.

"Who's there?"

"Welcome to Hell," said the voice.

"Hell? What the hell am I doing here?"

"Haven't you heard of the fifth commandment, Aimee? Thou shalt not kill. 'Tis a deathly sin if you kill yourself, you can't confess."

Soon, I was surrounded by eternally burning flames and I saw Paul's face.

"Hello, Aimee!" he said. "You're mine now!"

He grabbed me with a large clawed hand that had an iron strong grip on me.

"Let go of me, Paul!" I yelled.

"I'm not Paul. I'm Satan, Aimee. And you're mine." He smiled, showing his teeth, which were fangs and his tongue was like a snake. He began to lick me with his horrible tongue and clawed my skin with his fingernails and nipped at my skin with his fangs. I screamed, but the hole I had fallen down had closed up. I felt his stiff cock press into the space between my thighs; I tightened my thigh muscles to keep him from entering me.

I fought him off, sweating, but I couldn't resist; I was helpless. I was in Hell and he could do what he wanted to me. Hell was an evil place where you suffered forever. Satan could do whatever he wanted to you until you never slept…

"NO!" I screamed.

I woke up flopping in my bed, covered in a heavy sweat and felt sick. I ran to the bathroom to throw up the pills that I had ingested. Nothing came out but last night's dinner, which I had barely touched and acidic juice from my stomach. I coughed and my throat burned from the acid and my stomach flopped over. I flushed the toilet and went back to bed, still feeling sick.

By morning, I felt too sick to go to school. I thought I was going to throw up again and I felt sweaty. I saw Daddy tiptoe inside my room, ignoring the PARENTAL ADVISORY: THIS ROOM IS OFF LIMITS sign on my door.

"Hey," he said.

"Is it time to go to Chicago, Daddy?" I asked.

"Yea. You going to school today?"

"No."

"What's wrong?"

"I feel sick. I think I ate something funny."

He put his big hand on my head and felt it.

"You're hot and sweaty. What else?"

"My stomach hurts too and I threw up last night."

"Poor girl. Want me to call your school and let them know you're not going to be in?"

"Yea, Daddy. Thank you."

"OK. You take care of yourself, OK? Please take care of your mother and your brother while I'm gone, OK?"

I nodded miserably. He stroked my sweaty soaked hair; I saw his gold wedding ring glow in the sunlight and it pained me to look at it. Then, he planted a kiss on my sweaty cheek and stroked my dyed black hair.

"Bye, my little girl," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye. I love you, Daddy."

"I love you too, my little girl."

I heard the door close from my room, his footsteps down the stairs, the front door close, the starting of his car, and him pulling out and driving away. He was gone.

I heard Mum wake up, waiting 'till the coast was clear. I had a vision of her in the bathroom, clipping off the tags of a lacy bra that had roses on it and putting it on. She put on her silk dress that she always wore when she and Daddy went out to a fancy dinner. Then, she took it off and fixed her breasts, plumping them up and put on her sweater. I heard her start her car and pull out of the driveway.

Soon, I snuck out of my room, making sure it was really quiet and snuck into her room. I saw on the floor a new pair of high heel shoes and a pink silky slip with lace on the neckline and the lacy bra with roses lying on the bathroom floor. I felt like I wasn't in her room…but a stranger's room. This wasn't Mum, this wasn't the woman I knew who birthed and nursed me.

I grabbed the shoes, the slip and the lacy bra and stuffed them in the trash, screaming angrily. I fell on my knees and wept miserably. I climbed onto Mum's bed, hoping to have a vision of Mum and Paul. I saw them in the movie theater seeing a French film. Their lips moved, but I couldn't understand what they were saying. Soon, Paul knelt in front of Mum and began to kiss her inner thighs and I felt sick. He soon nestled between her thighs and…Oh sweet Jesus! I could actually see what he was doing! I saw him lick those pink, sensitive feminine folds with his tongue. He teased the little pink button that was hidden in the nest of curls, then moved lower and penetrated her with his tongue…oh shit!

I was going to be sick! I ran to the bathroom to throw up again. I threw up three times. I went into Mum's purse and found a box of Marlboro Lights. I took a cigarette out and lit it, inhaling and exhaling the smoke. The toxic chemicals tasted sweet and calming. I went downstairs to the kitchen and made coffee, black. It tasted bitter, but it made me feel a lot better. Later, I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, then went out back and smoked the rest of weed I got from the tattoo artist, stoning my brains out, seeing pretty colors, spiders, and naked people. After that, I stamped out the butts, hiding them under a patch of dirt in the woods, hoping no one would find them. I went to the bathroom to cut myself again…the blood drops fell to the white tile floor. I applied pressure on the wounds, waited until they healed, hid them again.

Then, I saw Mum, lying on top of Paul's crotch, asleep. There were wine glasses and a cigarette smoking in the room. The wine was black red like blood. Then, Mum looked at her watch and got up quickly. She was late picking up Charlie.

I saw her pull on her sweater, it was raining and a parking ticket on her windshield. Mum saying 'Shit' multiple times and 'come on', trying to grab the ticket. Soon, I saw Charlie and his teacher waiting for her and she ran out of the car with bare feet to pick up Charlie. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but I knew that she was asking if he was scared.

"Why didn't your sister pick you up?" she asked him as they came in the door.

Charlie shrugged.

I got off Mum's bed and ran into my room, spraying myself frantically with perfume and brushing my teeth and swishing with mouthwash, hoping to hide the smell of cigarettes and weed I had been smoking all day.

"Aimee," she called. "Come help me."

"Mum, I'm not your fucking slave!" I yelled.

"Aimee Christine Sumner! GET DOWN HERE! I want to talk to you!"

I came down, looking at her with angry eyes. She looked back at me. Charlie stared at me.

"Aimee, why do you smell like cigarettes and..." he paused to smell me. "Hay?"

To Charlie, "Charlie, go upstairs." Then, to me, just one look, and she said, "Jesus Christ, Aimee! Look at your eyes. What the hell have you been doing!"

"Why do you care?" I retaliated.

"Why didn't pick up your brother?"

I didn't answer.

"Didn't you get Daddy's message?" I said, irritated. I showed her the notepad that was on my door he had left a message.

"What message?"

"THIS message!" I threw the pad at her; it hit her in the chest. It read: 'Con, Aimee's sick. She won't be going to school today. Have Charlie pick up her homework. Thanks, Edward.'"

"Oh! I didn't see that!" Mum stammered.

"Of course you didn't see it," I said, throwing my hands up.

"What is that on your shirt?" Mum said.

"Don't worry about it," I said, turning away.

"What's on your shirt?" She grabbed my arm, trying to pull my shirt up.

"Stop fucking poking me!" I screamed.

She had me turn around, and the belly button ring glinted in the living room light. She clapped her hand to her mouth in shock. I saw Charlie at the top of the stairs, peeking out of the spaces between the railings.

"What the hell is that?" she said, her voice quaking.

"It's a belly button ring," I murmured.

"What's that? I can't hear you."

"It's a _belly button RING_!" I said loudly. "I don't speak any other language." I opened my mouth wide enough on purpose so she could see my tongue ring. I laughed. "Oh! And did you see this?" I stuck my tongue out. "That is a tongue ring. Oh! And this too." I pulled the shoulder of my shirt down and showed her my tattoo. "This is a tattoo."

"When did you do this?" she said.

"Since when do you care?" I said. "Let's talk about you for a change: no bra, no panties." I touched her shoulder and her hip, feeling the absence of bra and panties. "No bra, no panties…" I said, my voice getting louder and louder.

"Stop that! You are out of control, young lady."

"No," I said. "I think it's _you_. You're too busy fucking that bastard instead of paying attention to your fucking family. You don't know what happens around here anymore, you can't even see that your family is falling apart. Like, for example, did you even know that I tried to kill myself last night with your sleeping pills…and did you care? No!"

"You touched my pills?"

She looked at me with a white face when I told her that I was going to kill myself and didn't speak for several minutes. I only stared back at my once former friend and was now my enemy. I opened my mouth to speak, but I didn't. I only sighed. I could barely hold back my anger and my hate…then, my hand swiped Mum across the face, a loud crack that sounded like a whip following and she let out a loud shriek. I had slapped her. She cupped her face and there were tears in her eyes. When she moved her hand away from her face, I saw a red handprint form on her smooth, pale cheek. She walked past me and ran up the stairs, crying, cupping her sore, red cheek.

I felt a sear of pain in my heart when I heard her crying. I had done the unthinkable of what any child would do. Other than saying 'I hate you' to Mum's face and insulting her, hitting Mum in the face just crossed the line. And I had hit Mum hard enough to leave a red handprint on her face. Jesus! Why did I do such a thing? How could I be such a cold-hearted, selfish, spoiled bratty bitch? I hated and hurt both her and myself.

Mum was in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette with a cup of tea in front of her and a mess around the kitchen table, crying. The kitchen was a mess. I peeked around the doorway, in my bare feet, my acid green shirt with industrial zippers and my black pants that had hooks, zippers, and silver latches, looking at this sad angel that had fallen from grace. I have never seen her so miserably wretched: dark circles were probably under her red, wet eyes wearing her blue pajama top with her head buried in her arms, crying miserably and the handprint burning her smooth cheek and her body shook.

Quietly, I tiptoed towards the garbage where I had thrown out my poem and I took it out, wiping away some garbage that was on it, cleaning it off, stuffing it in my pocket. Mum looked up at me: her eyes were teary and red, her thin mouth trembling, and the cigarette between her forefinger and middle was trembling and her face looked hurt; the red handprint was still there. I couldn't look at her. She buried her hand in her face and wept some more. I really had hurt her. I tried to resist from crying.

"Mom?" said Charlie.

Mum gave a startled cry and put her cigarette away.

"What, sweet pea?"

"Why are you crying?"

"Oh," she said in her friendly voice, but it quivered. "Mommy just had a bad day."

"Why's Aimee crying too?"

"Mommy and Aimee had a fight. I hope she apologizes soon."

I wanted to answer back, but chose not to because silence was much better than making the situation worse. I could hurt us both again and worse. But to apologize, no! I will never apologize. I hadn't the heart to…

"Don't cry, Mommy and Aimee. Daddy will be home soon." She hugged Charlie and I looked at his face, looking so happy hugging Mum. I wish I could hug Mum, but I was angry and hurt that I hadn't the heart to.

"Mum?" I said.

"What, Aimee?" she said, her voice quivering.

"Can I borrow the car keys?"

"Why?"

"To pick up my homework that I missed."

"Go." She didn't look at me.

I got into the car, started it and drove to the school. Of course, Charlie didn't pick it up because he's too stupid. I popped in one of Alice's CDs and sang along with it, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel.

Once I got at the school, I went to all my classes to pick up my homework that I had missed. It's kind of stupid, but who cares?

Once I picked up my homework at the office, I ran into the bathroom and looked at my messy self. My hair was unkempt and my eyes were red and bloodshot from crying and being stoned out of my head; the dark eye makeup and mascara that I had put on was streaming down my face in black rivers. I looked I had been hit by a bus and ran over again in reverse. I turned on the sink and splashed my face, feeling the cool satin on my face. My mind couldn't remember anything anymore…I had gotten so stoned that I couldn't even remember how to spell 'Philadelphia'.

I drove to SoHo, picked up more weed at the tattoo parlor and stopped in for some coffee at Cafe Noir. I'd take it to the park, smoke it and stone my brains out again. I ran into the bathroom, looking at myself again…how horrible I looked.

Once I walked out, I saw Paul walk in…the minute I saw him, I ran towards the emergency exit, setting off the alarm. Got in Mum's car and peeled out. Paul was driving right behind me, speeding up. Jesus! He pulled up right to me and yelled, "Pull over, I got to talk to you."

I gave him the finger and sped away. He sped up right behind me, chasing me. I tried to get away from him, but he was on my tail. Cars honked loudly as I swerved over the lane. Soon, I swerved to the opposite lane and I saw an oncoming car, honking loudly. I screamed and pulled over to an isolated spot, near an alley.

He got out of the car, while I sat there, paralyzed with terror from what just happened.

"Get out!" he yelled.

He slapped me hard across the face, dragging me out of the car and shoved me in the back seat; the slap stung my cheek. I tried to crawl away but he blocked my retreat and I was cornered.

"I'm still not finished with what I have started, Aimee," he said.

"Get away from me, you fucking pig!" I screamed.

He didn't hear me, but grabbed me and forced me into the back seat, pressing my face against the upholstery of the car. He was undoing my pants with trembling fingers.

"Now, say you want me to fuck you, Aimee!" he said, pressing his face into mine; his breath smelt horrible, like alcohol and cigarettes.

"No!" I said, angrily.

He slammed me against the door, bruising my cheek.

"Say you want me to fuck you."

He yanked my pants off and pulled me into the crotch of his jeans; I felt his hard erection beneath the denim stabbing my privates. I whimpered miserably, feeling like a cornered animal.

"No!"

He pressed me harder into the door. I sobbed hysterically and terrified, never being so afraid in my life.

"Now will you say it?"

"I already fucked Shawn," I said, angrily between my teeth.

"You little slut!" he seized my hair, pulling it back. Then, I saw him smile. "I guess it's my turn to fuck you. See if you're as good as your mother."

"Go to hell, you fucking piece of French shit!" I said.

He slammed me harder against the door. It hurt so much that I swear I could've broken some facial bones.

"Now, say it! Say you want me to fuck you, you slut!"

"No!"

I heard him unbuckle his belt and the horrible sound of his fly unzipping. I felt his horrible, swollen penis nestle between my folds; I tightened my muscles to keep him from going any further. I was scared.

"Please!" I begged him. "Please don't do this! Just let me go! I'll never tell anyone! Never!"

"I know you won't, Aimee Christine. I'll let you go when you say you want me to fuck you."

"Never!"

He put his hands around my hips, forcing me to his penis that felt like a deadly snake poking in all those sensitive places, looking for a place to bite. I felt his thick finger touch me in that place where it was wet and sensitive, teasing it. I wept and shook with terror.

"Say it, Aimee! I won't stop until you say it."

I had no choice. What could I do?

"Fuck me!" I sobbed in fear.

His finger slipped inside me and oh, Jesus! It hurt so much. It felt like a sharp, iron rod impaled me. He stroked me inside and it hurt even worse that I cried even more.

He pulled me forward to face him and forced my head down towards his cock. I could see that it was swollen and red, pointing towards me like a gun.

"Suck me, Aimee!" he said.

"I don't want to." I shook my head.

He knocked the back of my head with his fist, stunning me; I felt my brain liquefy into mush.

"Do it, Aimee!"

"No!"

Again I was knocked. I prayed that I would die than suck his dick.

"Do it!"

"No!"

Then, he tightened his grip on my hair and forced his cock against my lips; it felt hot and hard and I felt a wet substance at the tip on my lips.

"Do it, you fucking slut!"

"Never!"

He tightened the grip on my hair that I cried out and his cock went inside my mouth. Oh Jesus! I had never felt so frightened that I couldn't do anything. I was weak to defend myself from the blows. I just couldn't watch, so I shut my eyes. I felt him drive himself into me, his cock choking me and stabbing my uvula, gagging me. After he withdrew, I coughed and gagged, sobbing.

"Now, it's my turn," he said, whispering in my ear. "I bet you're good down there."

I sobbed, frightened and sore; my shirt soaked in sweat and my pants were still down with my panties around my knees.

"Take off your shirt," he said.

"No," I sobbed.

"Take it off, bitch!"

"No!"

He drove his fist into my cheek, bruising it even more. My gums throbbed and my teeth hurt; I think he cracked them. He pushed it up forcefully, pressing me against the cold, hard tile wall. He pushed up my bra and began to feast on my breasts, licking, suckling and biting the nipples; his teeth felt like vampire's fangs and his tongue felt like a snake's, licking.

"Please!" I begged him. "Jesus, please, stop!" I don't think I could sob anymore because my eyes burned with tears.

I felt him yank my pants off to my ankles, the cold wall pressing against my bottom.

"Open your legs," he demanded.

"No!" I tightened my thighs, refusing him entry to my sensitive place.

"You are a stubborn bitch!" He twisted my hair even more. "Now, open them!"

"Never! I'll never open them for you!"

He drove his fist into me and I cried out in pain.

"Open them or I'll bash your fucking brains out."

"No!"

"Fine! I'll do it for you."

He forced me on the seat, pushing my thighs to my chest and pressed my head into the door.

"If you don't open them now," he said. "I'll squash your head like a fucking walnut."

Reluctantly, I opened about two fingers apart and he kept pressing my head into the corner and forced them open with his knee, pressing it hard into the sensitive place; it hurt. I felt him kiss and blow on my belly, moving lower to the nest of curls. He had me put my knees on his shoulders and I felt horrible licking and nipping on the sensitive button that was protected by masses of curls. I don't think I could stand it anymore…I flopped my body and kicked my legs as hard as I could, but he pressed my head harder into the wall.

"If you move or scream, I'll smash your head in," he warned.

Then, I felt him spread my folds, exposing them. Lowering his head, he licked, suckled and nipped. Oh Jesus! It was so horrible. Then, I felt his tongue penetrate my entrance, which felt like a hard spike being driven inside me. I whimpered and felt the pressure on my head tighten and my entrance bruising.

"Please, stop!" I begged.

He did stop, leaving me naked and helpless on the seat and sobbing.

"Now, say you want me to fuck you…but this time, say my name."

"No!" I said.

"Say it, Aimee! Say 'I want you to fuck me, Paul!'"

I shook my head; again, he slapped my face.

"OK! OK!" I sobbed. "I want you to fuck me, Paul! Just, please don't hurt me anymore!"

He grabbed my hips and forced his thick penis inside my unready femininity. It hurt even worse. It felt like a sharp, hot iron rod stabbing and burning me. He must've drove inside me so many times…I couldn't tell because all I could think of was the pain. I was sweaty, the bruise on my face throbbed horribly, his death grip on my hair was tight, and his cock burned inside me.

"Please!" I pleaded. "Please, stop!"

"You like that?"

I shook my head, sobbing like a little girl who had been molested.

"Don't cry, little girl," he said. "I like you. You're wetter, tighter and you taste better than your mother. Your pussy is tighter than your mother's after years of fucking her husband."

I cried, pulling my pants up and fixing my shirt. He kissed me on the cheek, saying,

"Don't cry, little girl."

I got up and ran out crying, I was sore from head to breasts to vagina. I fumbled for the keys to my car and got in the front seat. I had a terrible burning sensation inside, causing me to moan. I looked in the mirror and fixed my hair, making look like nothing happened. But my eyes were teary and I was soaked in sweat. I had nothing to change in, but cover myself with Mum's leather jacket that she had tossed in the back.

Soon, I was sobbing hard while I was driving that I got pulled over by a speed cop. I showed him my driver's license and the insurance cards and he gave me a ticket.

"Something wrong, Miss Sumner?" he asked. "You seem upset."

Now was my chance to tell him that I was raped in the bathroom and I needed an emergency test because I didn't use protection and I could be dying from HIV or some horrible sexually transmitted disease that he could've given me or his sperm could be fertilizing my egg and I could be pregnant with his child any moment now.

"Jesus! What the hell happened to your face?" he asked, seeing my bruised face.

"I got into a fight at school."

"Miss Sumner, do you need to go to a hospital?"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you."

As soon as I got home, I tore off the clothes I was wearing and stuffed them in the closet. I put on a clean pair of panties and my sleeveless shirt, letting my breasts breathe. I looked in the mirror and saw that they were red from Paul suckling and biting them; they tingled sorely. I rubbed them with my hands, massaging them. My face was bruised and a black eye had formed around my eye. I looked like I was married to an abusive husband.

"Oh, Jesus!" I said, seeing my black eye.

I laid on my bed, I drew Mum and Paul in the theater: Paul kissing her thighs and his head between them, Mum's face as he teased the sensitive flesh between her thighs, her asleep on his crotch and her dress unzipped in the back, with the wine glasses and the cigarette in the ashtray on the table. Then, Mum's face when she found out I tried to kill myself, her reaction when I slapped her with the red handprint on her face, and her smoking a cigarette and crying. Just looking at them made me want to cry. I was so angry; I pushed my sketchbook aside and buried my face in my hands with a headache.

Perhaps some music would relax me on the radio. I turned on the radio and the announcer said:

"…Tonight, Alice Cooper singing, 'Only Women Bleed'." I closed my eyes while Alice sang: 'Man got his woman/to take his seat/he got the power, oh/she got the need/She spends her life through/pleasing up her man/ she feeds him dinner, oh/anything she can…' and I had visions of how I treated Mum.

When Alice sang: 'She cries alone at night too often/he smokes and drinks and don't come at all…' I saw Mum's face, crying as she smoked her cigarette and her teary, red-eyed face, her lips quivering.

Alice sang: 'Only women bleed/ only women bleed/ only women ble-heeeeed.' I saw Mum and Dad in the tub, hurting his feelings by leaving him when Alice sang: 'Man makes your hair grey/he's your life's mistake/all you're rea-lly lookin' for/ an even break/He lies right at you/ you know you hate this game/ slaps you once in a while/and you live and love in pain…' seeing Mum's face when I slapped her: the tears in her eyes and the red handprint.

During the soft instrumental, I seemed to sink into what looked like the world of the unconsciousness because it was dark and nothing but images of Mum fucking Paul and him fucking me when Alice sang louder: 'Man got his woman to take his seat/ he got the power oh/ she got the need/She spends her life through/pleasing up her man/she feeds him dinner/ anything she can/She cries alone at night too often/He smokes and drinks and don't come home at all/only women bleed/only women bleed/ only women blee-hee-yee-yee-eeeed.'

During the instrumental, I saw repeated images of slapping Mum repeatedly, her reaction to my slap, and her tears. Alice sang: 'Black eyes, all the time/ don't spend a dime/ clean up this grime/ and you there, down on your knees/begging me please/ come watch me BLEEEEEEEED!' I was shaking inside and weak with sorrow when I saw myself throwing my pad of paper at Mum, showing her the note she missed. Just looking at my visions made me want to cry, too. I started to cry when Alice ended: 'Only women bleed, only women bleed, only women bleed, o-only women bleed, only women bleed, only women blee-heeeeeeeeeed.'

I felt so horrible that maybe I should die. The announcer interrupted my meditation: "And that was Alice Cooper, singing 'Only Women Bleed', from his album 'Welcome to My Nightmare'. Up next is today's weather report…" I turned off the radio.

I did drawings of my rape and beating in Mum's car: my lips on his cock, his lips on my vulva, breasts and neck, him pressing my head against the wall and beating me with his fist, his fingers inside me and him inside me. All of this looked like a horrible nightmare. I hid my sketchbook under my pillow where no one would ever find it.

I went to the bathroom, locking the door, taking my wristband off. The scars were bigger this time. I looked for the scissors. They were gone! No! It couldn't be! Where were they?

So, I went to the garage, found a box of razor blades that Daddy used when he cut boxes. I hid them in my hand and crept up the stairs quietly, locking the door to the bathroom. I took off my wristband, cut the scars where I had cut…oh SHIT! The blood came out so fast that I never expected it to. It fell in dime-sized droplets on the floor, turning the white tile a red color. I pressed the washcloth into my wound…only using a razor made my wounds sting for a long time.

"Aimee?" called my mother.

"Just a minute!" I yelled, biting my lip from the sting.

"Aimee, come down here!"

"I said, wait a minute!" I yelled back, trying to stop the bleeding.

I put the wristband back on, hoping it would heal…


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"How you gonna see me now

Please don't see me ugly babe

'Cause I know I let you down

In, oh, so many ways…"

-Alice Cooper, 'How You Gonna See Me Now'

_From the Inside_, 1978

Next day, Mum snuck out of the house, leaving me home with my swollen face and the burning sensation still inside. She went grocery shopping. While she was picking up the milk, she started crying hysterically.

"Why, Aimee?" I read her lips. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Later, I could see her driving in the rain to New York, knocking over the ramp cones as she drove towards the exit ramp, the oranges spilling out of the grocery bags all over the trunk.

Mum kept driving, looking for a place to park and saw Paul walking in the rain with another woman. She was dark haired and he had his arm around the girl. I saw Mum's face redden with hate and went to the valet parking just near his apartment. A valet guy ran after her, probably need her keys to park the car.

Mum turned and tossed the valet her keys and he got in to park the car. Mum went to the bookshop where she saw Paul and the other woman entered. She looked around, looking for him. She saw him, whispering to her in French, holding her close to him. Mum's face reddened, storming up to him and slapped him on the back of the head with all her force. Their lips moved speechlessly.

I saw them on the elevator, Mum wouldn't look at Paul and her face was red, and her eyes glittered angrily. I saw their lips move, but I heard nothing. She walked away angrily out of his apartment. I saw him grab her, trying to kiss her. She pushed him away, but kissed back at the same time. Now, he was pulling off her sweater until she was in her undershirt and undoing her jeans, pulling them to her knees, only in her panties. He pulled off his shirt, unbuckling his belt and opened his pants and pressed her into his erection from behind. Their lips continued to move, but I couldn't hear or understand what they were saying. I saw him yank her panties 'till they were just beneath her bottom and he entered her, his hands gripping her hair, she was twisted, kissing his lips.

I felt sick and threw up in the toilet again. I couldn't take it anymore…I hated Paul for fucking Mum and for raping me. I wished he would die, but they all say to be careful what you wished for. I don't care! I wanted him dead. After raping me and fucking Mum, I wanted to kill him literally.

In fact…I will!

I took out the Exact-O knife I used to sharpen my pencils and saw how smooth the blade was. I took out some wax paper and cut it, imagining I had sliced Paul in the throat, spilling blood everywhere.

I went to my car and drove to SoHo, patting my pocket where my knife was. Paul's blood will be spilt. For I kept Homer's _Illiad_ quote in mind: 'Revenge is sweeter than flowing honey.' And they all say: 'Revenge is a dish that is best served cold.' Well, after what Paul had done to me, it turned me into a cold person.

I parked my car outside of Paul's apartment. I saw someone go in and I ran out of my car, locking it with my clicker, and just in time, caught the door with the knife. I waited until the footsteps were gone. I tiptoed towards the stairs towards Paul's apartment. I held the knife tightly in my hand and hid it behind my back so once Paul answered the door, I would stab him in thethroat and rip him open and leave him for dead.

Suddenly, I heard voices coming from upstairs…one was Paul's and the other's…DADDY! I had a vision of what was going on…this time I heard their voices. Paul was wearing a jacket and his chest was bare. I saw their lips move, but I still couldn't interpret what they were saying. Oh my God! My plan was ruined.

"May I come in?" said Daddy.

"Sure," said Paul.

Once the door closed, I stood outside the door, closed my eyes and concentrated. I heard them talking…only because I was near the door. I didn't see Daddy, though.

"So, this is where she comes?" said Daddy.

"Sometimes," he said.

"Do you guys ever go out?"

"If we feel like it."

"Do you know we have been married for five years?" said Daddy; his voice sounded angry. "We have two kids." Where was I? Why couldn't I see Daddy?

Then…I just remembered the time with the camera: I was looking through Daddy's eyes.

"Yes," he said. "I'm aware of that. Aimee and Charlie, right? I met Aimee. She's very pretty.Your wife talks a lot about her."

"She talks about her?"

Then…my vision faded…

"No!" I whispered. "Come back!"

It came back…but all I saw were two vodka glasses, a smooth round glass ball with sparkles, it felt heavy in my hand and it struck Paul in the head. Little rivers of blood trickling down Paul's face, a pool of blood on the floor and his stunned face. That's when I ran!

I have never ran so fast in my life. I ran to my car, started it and peeled out. My whole body was covered in sweat and it stuck to my clothes and my hair. I just witnessed...OK, sort of witnessed a murder. But it wasn't _just_ a murder, it was a murder committed by someone I _knew_...my father!

Once I got home, I heard Mum crying. She was upstairs and in the bathroom. I heard the shower turn on, she was going to wash herself. I tiptoed up the stairs and watched Mum through the crack of the door, seeing the soft curve in her back and her stepping out of her panties and into the shower. I heard her crying in the shower. I could tell she couldn't take it anymore: lying and betraying Daddy and her family. I decided to let her cry by herself and wait until she was done with her shower. I left my poem folded up under her pillow, hoping she would find it.

She was done and she was lying on the bed crying. Her hair was wet and dressed in a robe. I went to her and lied down next to her. I held her hand and she held back. Then, Mum pulled me into her warm soft body and held me and held me as if forever. I felt her tears trickle down my neck, her face nuzzling my hair and her lips kissing my face desperately and her wet hair stuck to my face; she smelt like peaches and motherly to me.

"I have to end it, sweetie. I can't do it anymore. I'm not only hurting you and Charlie, but Daddy. Get me the phone, Aimee."

I said nothing.

I ran downstairs and got the cordless and handed it to her. She dialed Paul's number and I heard the answering machine say:

"Hi, this is Paul Martel. You know what to do. Leave a message after the beep."

The beep went off.

I saw Mum's lips quiver and the tears increase when she spoke.

"Hi, it's me. Listen, we have to end this," she said. Then sobbed. "I'm so sorry. I just can't do it anymore. I'm hurting my family. Goodbye." She hung up.

Now, I saw a glazed forehead with sweat, a pair of hands wiping away any evidence on the rim of the glass and the phone. Now, covered hands erasing the messages and wrapping Paul in a white sheet, red blood seeped through. Now, in a carpet with the bloody books in his jacket and duct taping the carpet. Now, cleaning up the spilt blood on the floor and dumping it down the kitchen drain, a red waterfall came out of a white bucket. The vision disappeared when Mum said that we had to go to Charlie's stupid play; he was playing a bunny.

I said nothing. I just followed. Shawn came to the play too.

We sat and watched Charlie's play. Even though it was too cute, I enjoyed it anyway. Shawn held me with his arm around my shoulders and his other hand holding mine while my head rested on his muscled shoulder. He smelled my hair, stroked the nape of my neck and ran his fingers down my back from the halter-top that I was wearing. I closed my eyes, enjoying his touch; it felt so good on my skin. Then, rested his hand on my hip and rubbed the pelvic bone with this thumb.

I saw Daddy come in and I looked at him and he looked back. His face had a sign of guilt and his face was glazed with cool water and his shirt had been changed.

"Hey," he whispered to Mum.

"Hi," she whispered back.

"Did I miss anything?"

"Not much."

I watched as Daddy reached his hand out to hold Mum's hand; their gold wedding bands gleamed from the lights from the stage. I knew that Daddy would never forgive Mum for her terrible sin because his face looked hurt.

"What?" said Shawn.

"Nothing," I lied.

"Is something bothering you?"

"No." Another lie.

"Shh!" Mum said. "Charlie's solo's coming up."

Charlie did sing his solo and we were both straining from laughing because it was the cutest thing we ever seen. He was a bit off-key that we had to go outside to laugh our asses off.

"We'll get together sometime."

"Sure."

When Charlie's play was done, Shawn wanted to drive me home, but Mum said 'no' because I had homework to do and I should go home with Daddy and Charlie. Shawn gave me a kiss good night and said he'd call me so we could do something. Daddy backed up and someone hit us from behind. Daddy got out to close his trunk, slamming it multiple times. I could smell the coppery stench of blood from the back. He came back in the car, sweaty and nervous.

"Daddy?" I asked.

"What, Aimee?"

"What's that smell?"

"What smell? What are you talking about?"

"There's this coppery smell. I dunno what it is, but it's making me sick."

"Open a window then, Aimee."

He kept driving and Charlie fell asleep during the drive home.

"I know you did it, Daddy," I said.

"Did what?" he said, looking through the rearview mirror.

"You killed Mum's lover."

"How? How do you know?"

"Your face shows it. And the blood is still on your hands. No matter how many times you wash it away, the blood stays."

"Aimee, be quiet. I don't know where you heard this and what you're talking about." His voice was quivering. I was quiet and didn't say anymore. In fact, that was the last time I spoke…

Late at night, I heard his car pull out. I saw him drive to the New York Sanitation Department Landfill to dump Paul's body wrapped in the carpet. He buried it in some garbage, desperately and took off. Now, he stopped at the car wash to wash away any evidence on there whatsoever. I heard him tiptoe up the stairs, go to the shower to wash away the filth from the landfill. He got dressed in his pajamas and crawled back into bed, where Mum was sleeping; she was naked. Daddy didn't get any sleep.

By morning, Mum, Charlie and I were downstairs eating breakfast. Daddy came in and he seemed bothered.

"Charlie," said Mum. "What's wrong with Daddy now?"

Charlie looked at Daddy and saw that his shoes were the wrong colors.

"Shoes are the wrong colors," he said.

He looked down. "Oh!" he said.

"You alright?" Mum asked.

I wanted to tell her that I knew what he did last night, but I decided to keep my mouth shut.

"Yea," he said; he turned away and then came back in. "Do you like it here?"

"Yea, why?"

"You know, we could go back to the city if you want."

"No, I'm happy here, Ed."

I didn't feel well. Daddy was lying now because he killed Paul and got rid of his body. I stayed at home with Mum and Charlie; Daddy went to work. I laid on the bed and drew Paul's face, the blood running down it, the vodka glasses, and the waterfall of blood going down the drain, using a red pencil to make the blood stand out. He looked like Jesus when the Romans put a crown of thorns on His Head before he was crucified.

I heard Charlie's feet run up the stairs, excitedly.

"Mom! Aimee!" he said. "The cops are here!"

I got out of my room to see the police car. Two men came out of the car with star badges in their coats, walking towards the porch and knocked on the door. Charlie and I followed her downstairs so she could answer the door. I was behind Mum and Charlie went to hide in the kitchen.

"Mrs. Sumner," said the detective.

"Yes?"

"I'm Detective Dean and this is Detective Mirojnick, we're with the NYPD. Do you know a Paul Martel?"

"Yes," Mum said. "Well, not very well."

"In what way?"

"Well, I bought some books from him one time," she said. "How did you know I was here? Why?"

"He's been reported missing today by his wife."

"I-I didn't know he was married," Mum stuttered.

"Separated," said Dean.

"Oh."

"How did you know I was here?"

"We found your phone number in his apartment. Any reason why he had it?"

"Well…" Mum began, her eyes looking left. "He sold me some books…"

Bullshit! I thought.

Detective Dean saw me, standing there in a catatonic state, staring and frightened.

"Hello," he said. "What's your name, young lady?"

"This is my daughter, Aimee. She's my first. Charlie is my second."

"Is she OK? She looks scared." He looked at my face. "What happened to your face?"

"She got into a fight," Mum said.

"Anyway, we'll be back with a few more questions. Here's my card if you hear from him."

He handed her his card and she placed it in her sweater pocket. I watched as they went to their car.

"Aimee, what's wrong?" she said, seeing me, staring. "Why do you look so scared?"

I said nothing.

"Aimee, I know you're hiding something from me. I want it out, now!"

I said nothing. Just stared into her eyes.

"Did you see something that scared you? Baby, what's wrong?"

I only shook my head no.

We sat on her bed and I curled up like a cat, staring, feeling like a kid alone in the dark. She held me tight and rocked me like she used to when I was a baby.

"What did you see, baby? Tell Mommy."

I shook my head no again.

We lied on her bed, tears in her eyes, trembling with fear and sadness. She touched my stroked my hair. I rested my head on her bosom while she cradled me there, keeping me warm and safe like all mothers would do to their children. I could hear the soft beating of her heart, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, and the warm velvet of her breath as she exhaled. I could feel sleep coming to me while I was in my mother's warm, loving arms. My hand was pressed against her chest, feeling how firm it was while her breasts pillowed me and her heart lulled me to sleep. Now that that bastard Paul was gone, Mum was all mine and I could have her all to myself. This woman gave life to me…yet, why did my body feel so numb and cold? I felt no love…no warmth…nothing…

"I love you, Mum," I whispered.

"I love you too, baby."

I lied.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"One down, one to go

Just another bullet in the chamber

Sometimes love's a loaded gun

Red lights stop and go

What you gonna do when you play with danger?

Sometimes love's a loaded gun

And it shoots to kill…"

-Alice Cooper, 'Love's A Loaded Gun'

_Hey Stoopid_, 1991

It was Thanksgiving and we heard nothing from the police. Daddy cut the turkey and everyone had a glass of wine. After dinner, I went outside to have a cigarette. I made smoke rings, staring into space, feeling cold. Then, Grandpa came outside to smoke.

"Hey, kiddo," he said.

"Hi, gramps," I said, exhaling the smoke.

"Your parents know you're doing that?"

"Sure," I lied.

"You've changed a lot, Aimee," he said. "Your mom just told me you're not talking. Why's that?"

"It's nothing, grandpa," I said. I inhaled and exhaled a stream of smoke, then stomped out my cigarette.

I came back inside and Tracy was looking at the snow globes, picking them up.

"Where did you get this one?" Tracy asked.

I saw the one that Daddy got Mum that had New York inside. It was exactly like the one I had seen in my vision. I could still see the blood stain on it, even though it had been washed away.

I saw Mum's face turn white when she saw the snow globe from New York back in its place.

"Fiji," Mum replied. Then, looked at Daddy, knowing he had done something. Then, at me, wondering if I had seen Daddy in my vision.

The next day, the cops came by again. Mum and Daddy were in the garden and I was on the porch listening to Alice on the radio.

"Mr. and Mrs. Sumner?" said Detective Dean. He introduced himself and Mirojnick and they walked on the porch.

"Aimee, go play with your brother," said Mum.

I shook my head no. Mum rolled her eyes and ignored my refusal.

"You're here about Paul Martel missing, right?" she said.

"Actually, he's not missing anymore. His body was found last week. We found evidence on his body."

"What do you mean evidence?"

"Scaring, in particular. There was a bite mark on his right arm. They're the only injury he's had so far…it's a few weeks old."

He showed her the photo.

"However, they don't appear to be an adult's…"

Everyone looked at me.

"Aimee," said Detective Dean. "Are these your teeth marks?"

He showed me the picture of the bite mark. I said nothing.

"Did you bite Mr. Martel?" Dean knelt in front of me, his eyes boring into me.

I said nothing.

"Well, Aimee," said Mum. "Answer him."

I said nothing. Just staring.

"No need to, Mrs. Sumner," said Dean. "Not only did we find evidence on Mr. Martel's body, we found shoe prints outside Mr. Martel's apartment. Size seven in men's, AllStar Converse." He looked at my shoes. "We notice your daughter is wearing AllStar Converse shoes." He looked at me. "What size shoe do you wear, Aimee?"

I said nothing.

"Mr. and Mrs. Sumner, we're going to need to talk to your daughter at the station, OK?"

"No!" said Daddy. "No interrogations. You're not taking my daughter anywhere."

"I'm afraid we have to, Mr. Sumner. She's a suspect in a murder case." He looked at me. "You're going to have to come with us."

"Be right back," I said. "Have to get something."

"Five minutes," he said.

I went upstairs, grabbed the clothes I wore the day I was raped, stuffing them in a paper bag and tore the drawing of the vision I had of Paul's death, stuffing it in my jeans pocket. They took me to the car, having me sit in the back seat. While we drove to the police station, I stared out the window, nothing to say.

I was in the interrogation room, tapping a pen on the surface of the table with my paper bag in my lap, my feet swinging on the chair. Dean came in and handed me a glass of water. I was trembling and sobbing. He pushed a photo of Paul's face.

"So," he said. "You know Paul Martel?"

I looked at the photo once…then, took the pen and scribbled his face until there was a hole.

"Oh-kay," he said. "I guess you do know Mr. Martel…right?"

I only covered my ears like a child that didn't want to listen.

"Aimee, we'd like to have a mold of your teeth, if you don't mind."

I said nothing.

"If you refuse, we could get a warrant. What do you say? You want to do it voluntarily?"

I nodded.

"Good." He saw the paper bag in my hand. "What's in there?"

I pushed the bag to him. He peeked inside the bag.

"What's this?"

"You'll see," I said.

They took plaster and stuck it in my mouth and had me bite down on it. They even collected the cup that I drank out of, their hands in latex gloves, placing the glass in a plastic baggie. They left me alone in the interrogation room with an officer who stared coldly at me while my head looked down at the table. It almost seemed like hours before they came back. They had the teeth marks and mold of the bite and papers with them.

"Aimee," he said. "The mold of your teeth matches the bite mark on Mr. Martel's arm. We also found on the clothes you gave us with sexual evidence. Mr. Martel's epitheliums all over your clothes and we found dry semen in your panties. Care to explain that?"

I only stared down, trembling with fear.

"Aimee? We need you to answer our questions."

"He raped me," I whispered quietly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"He raped me," I whispered, irritated between my teeth.

"Sorry?"

"RAPED ME!" I screamed, sobbing hysterically.

They looked at each other.

"When did he do this?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Is there anything else?"

I only stared, my eyes cast downward.

Soon, one of the scientists came in and whispered something in his ear.

They looked at each other.

"Aimee," he said. "Wait here."

I nodded.

They stepped outside. I listened to their conversation.

"We just came back from the crime scene," said the scientist. "We didn't find her shoeprints inside, just outside."

"Fingerprints? Saliva?"

"Not on the glasses we collected at the crime scene and no match to the saliva."

"If she was outside, then our killer was inside. She could've witnessed the murder."

"It's possible. Why don't you ask her?"

He came back in and sat down in front of me.

"Aimee," he said. "We have evidence that you witnessed the murder of Mr. Martel. Did you see anything?"

I reached into my jeans pocket and pushed the folded paper that had the drawings of Paul's death in front of them. He opened the drawing.

"So, you explicitly saw the murder?"

I nodded.

"Did you see who it was? Hear anything?"

I said nothing. I shook my head.

"Aimee," he sighed. "We have evidence that you were outside when the murder happened. If you have X-ray vision or something, why don't you tell me what happened?"

I said nothing.

"Are you covering for someone?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"OK," he said. "I'll be right back."

He went back outside. I could hear him calling the psychiatrist.

"Yea, Doctor," he said. "Look. I got a witness in custody. I think she sustained some kind of trauma from witnessing a murder. Will you come in and talk to her? She won't seem to talk."

I waited for another hour. The officer gave me a glass of water. I only sat there, staring, drinking my water. I hummed Alice Cooper's 'Welcome to my Nightmare'. Then, I heard footsteps from the room next door. I heard soft voices from behind the one-way mirror…I recognized them. It was my Mum and Daddy. They were behind that mirror; they had looks of concern on their faces as they sat there, looking through the window.

Soon, the psychiatrist came in and sat down with me…Dean wasn't with him. He was black with soft grey curls and rimless glasses, smiling. He was holding the drawing.

"Hello, Aimee," he said. "I'm Dr. Harrison Grey, criminal psychiatrist. Detective Dean told me you witnessed a murder, is that right?"

I nodded.

"I know it must've been scary, right?"

I nodded again.

"Detective Dean says that you were outside the victim's apartment at the time of the murder. And he showed me the drawing you did." He pushed the drawing in front of me. "Is this what you saw?"

I nodded.

"Aimee? Why did you draw these pictures of the crime scene and the murder victim? Did you see it in your dreams? Did you make it up?"

"I don't…" I said quietly, "make them. I see them…and then, they just…are."

"Aimee," he said, "did you see the murder?"

I nodded.

"Do you know who it was?"

I looked at the one-way mirror. I could see Daddy's face looking nervously.

"OK," he said. "It's OK. We forget sometimes…even I forget."

"Can I go home now?" I asked quietly.

"I'll find out." Then, he saw my wristband. "That's a nice wristband you've got on."

He stepped outside. I listened to their conversation. But the strange thing was, Mum and Daddy were there. I heard their voices behind the one-way mirror.

"Apparently, Mr. and Mrs. Sumner," said the doctor. "Your daughter has post-traumatic stress syndrome. The state is apparently, catatonic, which is why she hardly speaks at all."

"What does that mean?"

"Usually when a person witnesses a murder, the trauma that affects them varies. Your daughter, for instance, when she witnessed the murder, the level of stress was too high for her to handle. But, however, patients with this syndrome have ways of expressing themselves. Your daughter expresses herself through drawings." He showed them the drawing. "This is how she viewed the murder she witnessed."

"My poor baby!" Mum said.

"Did your daughter have any grudge against Mr. Martel?" Dean asked.

"No."

"We found some disturbing evidence, Mr. Sumner," said Dean. "Your daughter gave us some clothes and we found Mr. Martel's epitheliums all over her shirt, her jeans, and we also found dried semen in her panties."

"What?" said Mum, shocked.

"You daughtertold that Mr. Martel sexually assaulted her."

"Why didn't she tell us?"

"That we cannot be sure. But, you know how we said we found her shoeprints at the crime scene. Well, the only place we found them were outside Mr. Martel's apartment.So, it's possible that she explicitlywitnessed Mr. Martel's murder…but all we have are drawings of what she claims she saw."

"She saw the murder?"

"Supposedly. Also, we found fresh vaginal cells on Mr. Martel's body, meaning he had sex right before death. We suppose that Mr. Martel sexually assaulted your daughter and then was killed after she was raped. But, according to the coroner's report, the killer was a foot taller than the victim. So, there was no possible way that your daughter could've killed Mr. Martel, being five-foot-four and was standing outside the apartment at the time."

"Can she go home? She's so scared."

"Not yet," he said. "We need to do a physical exam on your daughter if you don't mind."

I was driven to the hospital. I had to strip down, wear a cotton patient gown. I wouldn't take off my wristband. The female detective took pictures of my face and torso.

"Aimee," said the detective. "I need you to take off your wristband, please."

"I can't," I said.

"Why not?"

"Because, I just can't."

"Please, Aimee."

I reluctantly took it off, showing her my cuts. She looked shocked.

"What happened here?" she asked.

I didn't answer her. She took a picture of my wrist, placing a ruler near it.

She took more pictures of me. Then, she had the nurse come in and do a sexual assault exam.

"Why?" I asked nervously.

"To see if you were sexually assaulted, like you said," said the nurse.

She had me lie back with my legs spread and both feet in stirrups, telling me to scoot my bottom back a bit. Then, she took out what looked like a pair of scissors and a clamp. She slid it inside me! I winced from the pain, gasping.

"Deep breaths, Aimee," said the nurse.

I took deep breaths and then I felt her stretch the walls of my vagina and felt scraping inside me. Oh! I prayed it would be over soon.

It was over. They let me go home. Dr. Gray was there once my physical exam was over.

"Oh," said Dr. Grey. "For Aimee's case, I highly recommend therapy for her. Maybe psychotherapy or hospitalization for recovery."

"We'll think about it," said Mum.

Once at home, Mum and Daddy and Charlie who were all happy that I didn't go to jail, all hugged me.

"What did you tell them?" Daddy asked, nervously.

I shook my head.

"No, really, Aimee, what did you tell the police?"

"NOTHING!" I screamed. "I said NOTHING to them. Just leave me the fuck alone!"

Daddy's face looked surprised when I said the 'f' word. Mum covered Charlie's ears.

I ran up the stairs, sobbing. I hated lying to Daddy and Mum, but Mum lied to him.

The next day, Mum and I went to go pick drop off Daddy's dry cleaning. I stood there silently, just staring. The Chinese lady came up to us.

"Name?"

"Sumner," said Mum.

I stared at the Chinese lady and she stared back at me.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked. "You sick?"

I said nothing.

"You talk, kid?"

"She's…she's mute," said Mum.

"Oh," she said. "Sorry."

Soon, Tracy came in.

"Hi, Connie," said Tracy. "Oh, hello, Aimee."

I said nothing. I just stared at her like a little kid would to a stranger.

"What's wrong with Aimee, Connie? She looks so scared. What happened?"

"She explicitly witnessed a murder two weeks ago," said Mum. "And the shrink says she's catatonic from post-traumatic stress syndrome. She hasn't spoken since. We're trying to be easy on her as best we can."

"Oh, the poor thing! That must've been a frightening experience. What are you doing about it?"

"The shrink says she's like a child lost in the dark and that she needs to be near people she knows until she can come out of the dark. He recommended psychotherapy or hospitalization, which we will both look into."

"Poor thing! I hope she gets through."

I saw Mum feel something in Daddy's overcoat and pulled out a yellow envelope. She opened it and found black and white photographs of Mum and Paul at the movies, at his apartment, going in, on the balcony, and leaving. Mum's face went white.

"Daddy knows…" I said, quietly.

"She speaks!" cried the Chinese lady.

Mum hid the pictures in her purse. Tracy was about to talk to Mum, but she made me run out along with her.

We got into the car and drove, her face all upset. I wanted to see them again…maybe add them to my drawings…but Mum slapped my hand away when I tried to touch them, saying:

"Stay out of my purse, Aimee!"

"Cunt!" I whispered.

She slammed on the brakes when she heard me say that word. I had never said that word to my mother.

"What did you say to me?" she said.

I said nothing.

"Look, Aimee," she sighed. "I know I don't deserve to your forgiveness. But I beg you to on behalf of this family."

"Bitch," I laughed. "You can cut the soap opera bullshit."

She looked at me like I had given her a cold slap in the face.

"Please, Aimee," she begged. "Tell me why you don't love me? What is it you want from me?"

I said nothing. I did love her…just not anymore. Inside me was nothing but a cold, black void.

"Please, Aimee! What can I do to make it up? I'll do anything to get you back!"

"Nothing," I said. "There's not a goddamn fucking thing you can offer to me that's going to change me."

Soon as it was dark, I turned off the lights and on the radio, 101.5 FM, classical rock. Alice Cooper singing 'Only Women Bleed' again tonight, pulling the covers over to sleep.

I could hear footsteps approaching my door. The doorknob turned with a click and the door hinges creaked as it opened. Charlie's head poked in; he had his pillow tucked under his arm, looking scared.

"Aimee?" he said, his face was white.

"What?"

"Can I sleep with you? I'm scared. Mom and Dad are fighting and I don't know why."

"Sure, squirt."

Charlie ran; his toes barely touched the carpet when he ran and climbed into my bed. I scooted over so he could have some room. Alice sang, 'Only women bleed/only women bleed/only women blee-heeeeeeed…' when I heard Mum say:

"Did you hurt him? Edward, did you hurt him? What did you do? You tell me what you did."

I heard Daddy say, his voice quivering and angry, "No, you tell me what you did. How you fucked him over and over, you lied to me, over and over…" Now, he was sobbing. Mum was sobbing too when Alice sang, "Man makes your hair grey/he's your life's mistake/all you're really lookin' for/an even break/he lies right at you/know you hate this game/slaps you once in a while/and you live and love in pain…"

"I didn't want to kill him, Connie, I wanted to kill you!" Daddy said.

"Edward," Mum said. "I'm sorry."

"I'll turn myself in."

"No!"

I heard Mum's footsteps walk towards the stairs and I heard her crying while Alice sang: 'She cries alone at night too often/he smokes and drinks and don't come home at all…'

"Aimee?" said Charlie.

"What?"

"What's a a-fair?"

"What do you mean?"

"An a-fair. I heard Dad saying a-fair."

"Do you mean 'affair'?"

"Yea. What is it?"

I sighed, wondering how I would explain what an affair meant to an eight-year-old. I hated to tell him the horror story of reality.

"It means when Mummy or Daddy…" I couldn't bear to explain it.

"What?" his eyes were round with curiosity.

"It's when Mummy or Daddy meet someone who they're not married to."

"And?"

"I don't think I can explain anymore. It's too much for a eight-year-old."

"Please! I want to know. What happens when they meet the person they're not married to?"

"Um…they kiss and do things they're not supposed to do."

"Like what?"

"Um…let's not go into detail, OK? I don't feel comfortable explaining the birds and the bees."

"What's that?"

"Um…never mind. Just forget it."

"You mean Mom and Dad are allowed to kiss, just not the person they're not married to?"

"Yes."

"What does it mean to do things you're not supposed to do?"

I sighed.

"Unfaithful," I replied.

"What does that mean?"

"It means, well, you know how you cheat on a test?"

"Yea."

"Well, when you cheat on a test, you're being unfaithful to your teacher and your skills in class. But, with Mummy and Daddy, it's different. They cheat on their husband or wife and do things they're not supposed to do with another person."

"So, who had an affair? Mum or Dad?"

I couldn't bear to tell. It only made me sick to tell my eight-year-old brother the horrors of reality.

"It was Mum, wasn't it, Aimee?"

I nodded.

"Why?"

"Because…well, people do stupid things. It happens. Life is like a tragedy play, we all have downfalls in the end."

"Will I have a downfall in the end?"

"It's figurative speech, Charlie, meaning when we do wrong things, they lead to a downfall. Kind of like the bad guy dies and the hero wins in the end in stories and video games and movies."

"Oh."

"Can we not talk about this anymore? I don't like talking about it."

"Why?"

"Because you're too young to know about the horror of reality. Now go to sleep."

I turned over.

"Aimee?"

"What?"

"I'm cold."

I drew closer to Charlie and held him close like a mother would do and hugged him. He felt soft and light with his fuzzy hair.

"Will you care if I wet the bed, Aimee?" he asked.

"No. I'll just change my sheets. Just, go to sleep, Charlie."

I watched as he put his thumb in his mouth and sucked on it as he fell asleep. I could hear his soft sucking through the whole night.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"It took so long

To realize

And I can still hear

Her last goodbyes

Now all my days

Are filled with tears

Wish I could go back

And change the years…

I'm goin' through changes…"

-Black Sabbath, 'Changes'

Vol. 4, 1975

It was midnight and I felt the soft, warm flow of my menstrual period soak my panties. I got out of bed, stepped out of my panties, went to Mum's bathroom panty-less to grab a pad and I saw her sitting on the toilet, her hands buried in her face.

"Mum?" I said.

She looked up, her hair hung in her face and dark circles were under her eyes.

"Aimee, what are you doing up late?"

I showed her my bloody panties, blushing.

"Oh," she said. "Pads are over there, sweetie." She pointed to the basket beside the toilet. "Give me your panties and I'll put soak them with bleach."

I shook my head no.

I tiptoed towards the basket and reached to get a pad. I shivered as the cold air kissed my bare bottom and my legs and the sensitive folds between my thighs burned from the rape. I clutched my belly and collapsed, the burning got worse.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Mum knelt beside me.

I clapped a hand to my mouth and touched my sore crotch.

"Honey, I know he raped you."

I can still feel him inside me, the hot, sharp iron rod of his penis and the burning inside my vagina. I only began to cry.

"Oh my baby!" she knelt beside me. "My poor baby, why didn't you tell me?"

I sobbed into Mum's sweater and she held me, rocking me like a frightened child in the dark. My bare bottom touching the cold floor and the soft flow of blood pooled.

"We'll fix this," she said. "I'll promise we will fix this."

"It's too late, Mum," I said. "Once you break something, you can never fix it again. You can't fix the fact you slept with Paul and hurt Daddy. You can't fix the fact that I was raped. You can't fix anything."  
"Baby, I'm sorry. I only wish I never met the man." She stroked my hair, kissing my forehead as I sobbed while she sobbed with me.

I wanted to tell Mum that Daddy was going to turn himself in and that Paul raped me, but I was silent because I knew she would never believe me. I knew he was…

I stole the photos from Mum's purse and hid them under my mattress. She'd never find them there. I sat on the couch, sketching everyone in the living room: Mum going through the photos, Dad with Charile, teaching him to play piano. There was a void between me and my family. Mum looked at the snow globe with NYC inside. She flipped it upside down and the sparkly snow floated all around the happy couple and the tall buildings. Soon, she opened it up and inside was a tiny envelope. She looked at Daddy and smiled...he smiled back at her. I guess that photo was in there for a reason. I got up to see what it was: it was a photograph of Daddy, Mum, me, maybe eight years old, and Charlie as a baby. We looked like the perfect family, so normal, so happy...

Not anymore.

A few days later when I came home from school, Dr. Gray was at our house. He was sitting in our living room with Dad. They looked very concerned.

"Aimee," said Dr. Gray. "We need to talk to you."

"I have to go to the bathroom," I said.

"Leave your purse," said Mum, her voice soft.

I went to the bathroom to try and escape out the window, but it was nailed shut. What the hell was going on? The shudders had been drawn in every room, making the house dark.

I went back to the living room, shuffling. Dr. Gray tossed the little bag of weed on the table. What the fuck!

"Who the fuck do you think you are, going in my room?" I yelled.

"Charlie found it," said Mum.

"What do you think you're doing? You invaded my privacy!"

"You're lucky we found it before the cops did," said Dr. Gray. "We're just trying to help you."

Then, Mum tossed a huge wad of cash on the table that. My parents' faces looked devastated.

"How do you explain $820 in your purse, Aimee?" she said.

"What do you want me to hear, Mum?" I yelled. "I jacked it from you, OK?"

"Jesus Christ, Aimee," said Daddy. "We don't even know you anymore."

"Oh God, Daddy and Mum," I yelled. "You guys _knew_ what was going on with me, cutting my hair, my new clothes and all that shit. Christ, you guys aren't that dumb!"

"We didn't know it went that far!" Mum yelled, her voice equal to mine.

Tears had welled up in her eyes, her face white as alabaster, trembling with a hand clapped to her mouth. Dad was crying too; I could see tears forming behind his glasses.

Then, Dr. Gray tossed the photographs on the table of my wrist. Mum went whiter and Daddy did too. Now, the tears were rolling out from both their eyes.

"The detective said that she found wounds on your wrist…" He was quiet for a few minutes. "They appear to be self-inflicted."

I couldn't speak. How DARE he do this to me!

"I'll show you, Mr. and Mrs. Sumner," he said, grabbing me.

I struggled, screaming, "Don't you DARE!"

"Look at this, Mr. and Mrs. Sumner. Your daughter…" I was struggling and twisting, trying to prevent him from rolling my sleeve up. "She _cuts!_" He peeled back my sleeve, revealing my ugly wounds.

"That's none of your business, you fucking asshole!" I screamed, sobbing.

Mum clapped a hand to her mouth and grabbed Daddy, sobbing hysterically into his shoulder. Daddy's face went white and he clapped a hand to his mouth when they saw the long, ugly streaks on my wrist.

"Jesus Christ!" said Daddy.

"Can't you see, Mr. and Mrs. Sumner that this child needs help?" said Dr. Gray, yelling over my sobs.

"Get out!" yelled Mum. "I need you to get out so we can talk to our daughter."

He left. Mum ran to me, restraining me from running away.

"Don't hold me, Mum!" I screamed, sobbing. "Leave me alone!"

"No," she said. "I won't leave you alone. Not this time."

I fell to the floor, hoping she would just give up and walk away from me. She didn't. She touched my hair while I strained away, sobbing.

"No! Don't hold me! Don't touch me!" I sobbed.

She ignored me completely. She took my wrist and started kissing the wounds; I felt her hot breath, her soft lips trembling, and tears falling on my flesh. Daddy kneeled next to me, kissing my wrist too. His tears fell on my arm.

"My poor, precious baby," sobbed Mum.

"Stop!" I sobbed, my voice cracking.

"Why, Aimee? Why?" Mum murmured softly. "Oh, my baby…my baby, my baby…"

They wouldn't let go of me no matter how hard I struggled. Mum covered my wrist with the sleeve of my shirt. They held me and held me as if it seemed forever. We all were sobbing.

A week later, there was an auction at Mum's work. Shawn came too, but he enjoyed the dancing and the food because the auction was full of old farts sweating and buying old shit that no one could give a shit about. He had to leave early because his Mum said he was still grounded.

I saw Mum pick up her cell phone and go to the door to get better reception. I concentrated, hearing Mum's conversation.

"We found female skin cells, a mixture of vaginal fluid and semen on the bed, not fresh. But there were fresh vaginal epitheliums Paul's body, meaning he had sex anti mortem, before death to translate," said the voice on the other line.

"We have the samples from Aimee's exam we took from the hospital when she had an accident. We found semen and injuries inside your daughter that consist to a sexual assault. We found his skin cells all over her clothes. We compared Mr. Martel's DNA to the samples we collected, all were a match. But, we're going to need a DNA sample from you."

"Oh Jesus!" Mum was full of shock and looked at me. "Why do you need my DNA?"

"Because we found vaginal epitheliums on him anti mortem, before death, technically speaking. We compared it to Aimee's DNA to the vaginal cells we collected. It didn't match, but it showed that thirteen alleles in common, meaning possible first-degree relative."

Mum didn't speak. Her face was white.

"We also found another form of epitheliums on the sheets Mr. Martel was wrapped in and they don't belong to either of you, but to a person who has XY chromosomes. Technically speaking, it was a male. But, it's not Mr. Martel's. We also found saliva and smudged fingerprints on the glasses and the phone…the saliva sample we took from the glasses matched the epitheliums on the sheets, but still came back unknown. So, if you could, we'd like to get your family down to the station and take DNA samples."

"All right. We'll see what we can do."

She hung up and went to Daddy.

"They want my fingerprints and DNA. They already found Aimee's DNA on Paul from her assault."

Daddy looked at me with shock.

"They also said that the DNA they found on him were both from first degree relatives. Aimee's and mine."

Daddy bowed his head and held Mum.

"What are we gonna do?" she whispered.

"I don't know, Connie," he said. "I don't know."

I watched Mum and Dad dance together. Her blonde hair, the way her dress swept as they turned, the way her dark eyes looked into his, sad and guilty from her sin she had committed. Daddy held her close until her breasts were crushed beneath his chest; his hands around her waist and their gold wedding bands glittered in the dim light. I sat there, taking out my sketchbook and drew Mum and Dad dancing: the way her breasts were crushed beneath, the way Daddy's hands held Mum's waist, the way they looked into each other's eyes, how sad and guilty they both were. I would call it: _Les Pêcheurs_, the Sinners. I knew what I would do with the other drawings I had done over the last few weeks or months. I would make it a large portrait with everything Mum and Daddy had done, from Mum's love affair to Daddy's murder.

When we had to go, we drove down the road towards the intersection and the light turned red. We stopped. Charlie and I were asleep, but I pretended to sleep. I saw that we had stopped in front of the New York Police Department on our right.

"We could just disappear," Mum whispered. "Go someplace. We could change our names, live in a different country, people do it all the time."

"Señorita," said Daddy, smiling.

"Mexico. We could buy a house on the beach, go fishing every day."

Daddy held Mum and kissed her face. The light had turned green.

"Tell Aimee and Charlie that I love them every day," he said.

"I will," Mum whispered.

"And that I will think of them everyday."

I watched him shift the car into park, unbuckle his seatbelt.

"No, Edward! No! Don't!" Mum begged him, quietly.

"I'm sorry, Connie. I'm really sorry. But I have to."

He opened the door, crossed in front of us, walking towards the police station, and he was gone…

I never saw Daddy again. Charlie asks everyday when Daddy is coming home. Mum just shakes her head, crying. The house is quiet without Daddy and everyday I hear Mum crying in her bed alone at night.

"She cries alone at night too often…" Alice sings on the radio. "He smokes and drinks and don't come home at all. Only women bleed/only women bleed/only, only women bleed, only women bleed, only women bleeee-heeeeeeeeeeed…"

A few days later after Daddy was booked, the detective called Mum and told her some startling news. They said they had compared Daddy's DNA with mine…they were not a match.

"What does that mean, Detective?" asked Mum.

"It means, Mrs. Sumner, that your daughter and your husband aren't biologically related," said the detective.

I was quiet. I didn't bother to ask why Daddy and I weren't related…I was too hurt over what had happened.

I'm still here, in the quiet, insane place. Summer turns to fall, fall turns to winter, and winter follows the spring. Days turn to weeks, weeks turn to months, and months turn to years. The drawing is nearly complete. My fingers trembling, sore and stiff from drawing and sticky from pasting, my eyes are blurry and tired that I'm going to pass out…

"Aimee," a soft voice whispers. "Aimee." A soft shake on the shoulder.

"Mm?" I say, sleepily.

"It's time to go to bed, Aimee. You've been sitting in that same corner for nearly 72 hours, that's six days straight. You need to rest."

I shake my head 'no' and write on the pad: I will not rest until I am finished.

"But you're exhausted, Aimee," she said. "You can always finish in the morning."

I shake my head no again.

"But the art contest is not for a week. You can rest for a while."

I shake my head no again and write: I don't care if it's in a week. I want to finish. I'll go to bed when I'm finished.

"Very well," she said. "I won't bother you. If you fall asleep again, do you want me to escort you to bed?"

I shook my head 'no' and wrote: No thank you. I have to stay with my work.

Morning is here again. I'm asleep on my work again, just like the nurse said I would. I rub my eyes, get my coffee and light a cigarette. My work is still not finished. I've been in this little corner for 24 hours, six days, six months, and three years. I don't care if my muscles ache or my bones and body are tired. I will not rest until my work is finished. I take another look at the scar on my wrist where I had tried to commit suicide and trace it with my fingertip. There are a few fresh ones, cigarette burns and razor cuts.

You may ask why there are new scars: those images on my masterpiece will never go away in my head. I see them no matter what: whether I'm awake, asleep, drinking my coffee, smoking my cigarettes, or drawing, they'll always be there.

Mum decided it would be best for me to be hospitalized to recover from the trauma I have sustained two years ago. Before I came to Westchester Psychiatric, the doctor did another test and said that my PTSS has gotten worse. I was talking lesser and lesser than before, I avoided Shawn, my mother and my brother, and became hostile when people came near me, there was even a time I attacked people that looked like Paul Martel in the street. The doctor said it would be best if I was hospitalized and Mum agreed too.

"Aimee," says the nurse's voice. "Your mother is here to see you."

I look up from my drawing and nod.

"Don't you want her to see your work? I mean it's beautiful."

I shake my head no.

Mum and Charlie, now 12, come in and they see me on the floor, smoking my cigarettes and drinking coffee.

"Hello, Aimee," she says. "I heard that you were doing an art project and I thought I come by to see you."

I say nothing.

"Aimee," she said, at the verge of sobbing. "Why don't you just talk to Mommy? Tell Mommy what's bothering you."  
I want to tell her all about what was bothering her, but I said nothing.

"I know you were raped, Aimee. I know Paul raped you. The investigators told me about it. They found Paul's semen and skin cells all over you. Why didn't you just tell me?"

I was going to speak, after three years of being mute. My throat creaked and my tongue wielded itself out of entropy.

"Because what you did," I said softly, barely a whisper. "Affected me more than anyone. Because of what you did is the reason why I feel nothing…everything that I ever loved is gone now."

"Oh, Aimee! You still don't remember the affair? It's over. We can be a family again."

"You think we can be a normal family again? Bullshit. You chose to have an affair and you fucked it all up. Now, look at us. Look at Daddy: he's in prison, and me: I'm in the mental hospital suffering from profound post-traumatic stress syndrome."

"Aimee, please! Please forgive my betrayal. That's all I ask of you."

I said nothing again. "I have to work. Work never ends around here."

"Please, Aimee! I go home every night, thinking about you. Worried how you're doing in the hospital. Please! Please love me again."

"I do love you, Mum," I said. "I love you more than life itself. However, the love I once had is dead."

She was about to sob when I said those cold words, but I got up and hugged her anyway, smelling her hair, feeling her soft skin against my rumpled clothes and my dirty fingers smudged pencil graphite on her.

"Why are you so mean to me, Aimee?" she asked. "Why? Your Daddy's gone and you're here. You and Charlie are all I have left. I'm so lost."

"I can't help it. I'm sorry."

Mum wiped her eyes and I passed her my coffee and she took a sip. I even offered her my cigarette and she accepted it.

"However," I said. "I'll make a deal with you."

"All right," she said.

"If you tell me the truth about certain things I want to know," I said, inhaling my cigarette. "I'll forgive you." I exhaled a stream of smoke.

"What is it you want to know, Aimee?"

"On the day they arrested Daddy, the police compared my DNA to my father's…" I began. "They said that neither of our DNA were a match. They said we weren't biologically related."

"No, you and your Dad are not biologically related, Aimee."

"So, all my life, you've been telling me that your husband was my father when my real father is some Joe Blow? You lied to me?"

"Yes, Aimee, I did. I wanted to tell you, but…I was afraid you wouldn't understand." "Who is Henry Jordan?" I said.

She sat there silently, her face turning white and her mouth dropped open with shock.

"Who told you about him?"

"Just answer the question. Who is he?"

She cleared her throat. "Henry Jordan is your real father. We met in college in Birmingham, England. We dated and…"

"What was your relationship like?"

Her white face became flushed. "You could say our relationship was quite sexual. Very sexual."

"Then what happened?"

"I was feeling sick all the time, thinking it was a cold. It turned out that I was pregnant. When I broke the news to Henry, he was in shock. He begged for me to get an abortion, maybe take birth control pills. But…I thought about it. Why would I throw away something as precious as a baby? I told him that I wanted to keep you and I never heard from him again. So, I continued to keep you alive and lived alone. Before you were born, I met Edward. He also knew about my affair with Henry and we both agreed to not tell you about your real father. We left England and decided to start all over again. We decided to get married in Westchester so we wouldn't have a child out of wedlock and people would think that you were Edward's baby, not Henry's."

"Where was I born?"

"You were born in the hospital. We decided to start all over again and so you would not be aware of your real past. We both agreed that you should have Edward's name. We put Edward down as your father along with his name, saying you were born in New York in a car. It was wrong, but we had to do it for your own good. As you got older, we wanted to tell you, but we didn't think you'd understand."

I only sat there, listening. I said nothing.

"We didn't want to, but we didn't want people to know you were an illegitimate child."

"Then, why have you been telling me to call you 'mum'? Why didn't you let me call you 'mom'?"

"I wanted you to call me 'mum'. Edward and I thought that it would be best that you called me 'mum'."

I said nothing. I was in too much shock. All these years, my past was nothing but lies…and like an idiot, I believed it all! My father wasn't my real father and Charlie wasn't my brother at all. And I still believed them!

"So, for nineteen years, you lied to me?" I finally managed to say.

"Yes, Aimee," said Mum. "We did."

I stared at her with disbelief.

"Honey, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I was young, I was stupid…"

"You were in love!" I said. "I know, and all that mushy bullshit!"

I was sobbing now. My own mother lied to me…again! And like an idiot, I believed her bullshit lies…just like Daddy believed her bullshit lies about her affair.

"I can't believe you lied to me all these years!" I said. "I've given you everything: I loved you, I respected you, I did everything you ever told me without complaint. And you're sitting here; telling me that I'm a bastard child raised with all these bullshit lies! I can't believe you!"

"I'm sorry, Aimee. I'm very sorry."

After being such a bitch to her for two years, her sorry actually sounded real. But I just couldn't forgive her. My heart was ice and my soul was an empty void after what happened two years ago. But after what she just told me, I hadn't the heart to forgive her.

"Do you forgive me?" she said.

I sighed and stared at her. She was the woman who gave me life, the woman who raised me, the woman who loved me more than life itself, the woman who had given me everything. Her teary brown eyes pleaded for forgiveness.

"No," I said.

I never heard from her again…

I'm alone…she's let me go…

"A mattress on the floor," Alice sings. "No handles on the door. I really need nothing more. I'm alone…"

Epilogue

After not hearing from Mum, I got a call from the police. They told me she was dead. She had overdosed on her sleeping pills. In her will, she left everything, including Charlie to me.

The funeral was held after I was released from the hospital. Tracy, Sally, Mum's friends that I didn't meet, her family was there. Daddy was there too, in his orange jumpsuit with two C.O.s with him. Daddy was crying. His wife was dead…and it was my fault. I wished I wasn't so cold to her…but I was. And it's too late to take anything back that I've said and done. I sob quietly, holding Charlie's hand. He just stares quietly at the coffin Mum's inside, not saying a word. His brown eyes are sad. I can see Mum in him…how her face would turn white, her eyes well up in tears. That's how I remember her when she found out the terrible things I had done: stealing money out of her bank account, using her stolen credit card, finding weed in my room, the cuts on my arm…

After the funeral, I found out in her will, she left everything to me, including the house and Charlie. However, because the life insurance policy excluded suicide, I didn't get any money from her life insurance policy. I kept the house and had to pay every penny of what I could earn for the house.

Charlie is not like he used to be. That happy little kid who would tease his older sister, make armpit farts under his arm…no, not anymore. He just sits quietly on the couch, reading and sleeping all day. I try everything to make him happy, but nothing works…his mother is dead, his father's in prison, and I've been released from a mental institution. I can only hope he doesn't turn out like either of us…

Years pass. Charlie graduates from high school and goes off to college, leaving me here all alone with no college education. Just working as an artist, hoping my work will sell. I work at the hospital as a volunteer candy striper to earn more money to pay for the house.

I'm alone…

"A mattress on the floor," Alice sings. "No handles on the door. I really need nothing more. I'm alone…"

THE END


End file.
